The Runaway Reawakens
by Miss Vampire Authoress
Summary: It's 1943 and Europe is engulfed in yet another world war. But things go from bad to worse when Italy suddenly starts remembering his past; what really happened to the Holy Roman Empire, how he got his independence from Austria. Long hidden secrets are uncovered. New Romances bloom and others die. True natures are revealed. Once again, Italy must fight.
1. Chapter 1

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 1: Memories of Centuries Passed

* * *

It was a beautiful summer's day in 1942. The sun heated the earth as farmers worked their fields, a light breeze making young trees branches sway, and a peaceful quiet settling over a small town in the German countryside.

"_Italy~!"_ A young man's angry roar filled the morning air, causing some residents of the small village to wince. Looks I spoke too soon about the town being quiet.

Many of the residents of the town simply sighed and shook their heads. Germany and Italy were at it again. They knew very little about the two men; only that they were apparently nicknamed after their countries of birth and that both were enlisted in the military. Everyday, they—Germany—tried to train on a large estate owned by the government nearby. But everyday, Italy ran away, and both young men ended up running around town, screaming and yelling and making a general ruckus.

The elderly folk of the village found it a nuisance, while the farmers found it distracting. The wives and mothers thought it troublesome. The children, however, adored Germany and Italy. They thought it fun to watch them run around, and sometimes they would join in their selves. Some children would help Germany chase after Italy, while others helped Italy hide or get away. It was like a big fun game of hide-and-go-seek that many enjoyed. Some for different reasons from others.

"Mr. Italy!" Little Greta Burger shouted as Italy raced by her house. Italy halted his steps and hurriedly rushed over to Greta, who stood in the doorway of the home. "What is it, Greta?" Italy asked quickly and nervously in German. He really had to get out of there quick or else Germany would catch up to him. But still, as an Italian, he could not be rude to a young lady—even if she was only 12. "Go hide in the shed behind my house," Greta suggested. "Mr. Germany will never find you there." She informed him. Suddenly, Italy smiled brightly and hugged Greta thankfully. "Grazie, Greta—you saved me!" He cheered with glee, and with that, rushed to outback to hide in the aforementioned shed. He did not see the little blush on Greta's cheeks as he rushed away to hide.

A few moments later, Germany passed Greta's house, screaming for Italy to come out right now or he wouldn't get any pasta for a month. Italy must not have heard that because he did not come out and Germany passed Greta's house without much incident. That is, until Greta's elder sister came outside as well.

"Oh Mr. Germany!" Sixteen year-old Broomhilde called. Down the road, Germany turned around with an eyebrow raised. Greta glared at her sister. "Mr. Italy is hiding in the shed in our back yard! Come see!" Broomhilde shouted, waving Germany over. Greta nearly gagged. Mien Gott, Broomhilde was such a flirt!

Germany immediately raced back down the road into the back yard, saying thank you to Broomhilde as he passed. As screams and yells erupted from their back yard, the two sisters glared at one another. "Tart." Greta snapped. "Wannabe." Broomhilde shot back. Greta barked a laugh. "Like I'd want to be you." She spat. Broomhilde huffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Jealous much, little sister?" She asked rhetorically. Greta rolled her eyes.

A moment later, Germany dragged a crying and begging Italy out of the back yard by the collar of his uniform. "Um, thank you, Broomhilde." Germany said awkwardly, yet politely as he left. Broomhilde blushed with faux-modesty. "Anything to be of service, Mr. Germany." She said with a little blush and suggestive smile. Germany apparently didn't get or care about her blatantly flirting, however, as he left then, dragging Italy behind him, with only a curt goodbye to the sisters.

"Ugh, men!" Broomhilde growled in frustration when Germany was out of ear-shot. "Tell me about it." Greta agreed.

* * *

At Germany's House…

"You can't just run off every time I ask you to do a push up, Italy! That is unacceptable behavior for a soldier—no that is unacceptable behavior for a nation! You are older than me for goodness' sake—where's your pride? Where is your honor? Stop crying—you mustn't act like such a whiny cry baby every time some raises their voice to you! Didn't you hear me; I said stop crying! I have no idea what to do with you—you—you're hopeless! I swear—how'd you even survive this long? How did you even gain independence?" Germany ranted. He and Italy stood in his office; Italy tied to a chair, Germany standing before him, lecturing the Italian angrily. Italy was whimpering in the chair; he would have been full-on crying if he wasn't so scared to do so after Germany told him not to.

Germany had him fixed with a hard glare and he seemed to radiate annoyance. Italy really didn't want to be on his bad side at the moment. Instead he whimpered as quietly as he could and tried to not cry or scream. But Germany was not pleased by Italy keeping his mouth shut for once, however. "Answer me, Italy!" He barked. Italy flinched.

"I-I don't know," Italy stammered. "What do you mean you don't know? How do you not know how you've survived almost a millennium?" Germany asked, not annoyed or harshly, but quizzically. Italy shook his head and explained, "I don't remember much from when I was little. I remember my time with Grandpa Rome, and bits and pieces of the Renaissance, but before the Great War, it's almost a total blank." Italy explained sheepishly. But then he let out a laugh, causing Germany to give him an annoyed and slightly perturbed look. "I guess I'm just lucky is all!" Italy said with his usual brightness.

Germany sighed heavily. "Italy, that isn't exactly good luck not to remember—You know what? Never mind. Just get out and go make some pasta or something." He said with exasperation and closed eyes. A moment or so passed before Italy reluctantly asked, "Aren't you going to untie me, Germany?" Germany jolted out of his brief daze and with a flush of embarrassment, began to untie Italy. "Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Sorry." He apologized. Italy simply laughed. "Germany's so cute when he's absent-minded."

* * *

Later, as Italy was preparing dinner, Germany's elder brother, Prussia decided to pester Germany as he worked in his office.

"Come on; let's go out for a drink!" Prussia prodded. "No, I have work to do." German protested as he signed yet another document. "You are such a bore," Prussia whined, plopping down to sit on his brother's desk with a loud thump. Germany briefly scowled up at his elder brother before returning his attention to his paperwork. "How could Brandy and I raise such a wet blanket?" Prussia asked no one in particular. Germany ignored him as best he could. "The aristocrat must have had something to do with it." Prussia commented idly, though his voice held a tinge of annoyance. Germany, again, ignored him as best he could.

Prussia hoped off Germany's desk then and sauntered over to a large window behind Germany's desk that over looked the training field of the estate. When this room had been his office, he used to look out this very window and watch Brandenburg play with Germany when he was younger. But now this was Germany's office and Brandenburg was long gone and everything had changed. Prussia felt a tinge of sadness at that thought.

"We really should go and have a beer, West. That's what brothers do. They go drinking together and have fun and junk." Prussia suggested, this time less annoyingly and more genuinely. Germany turned his chair to look at Prussia with minor surprise, and then gave a hesitant nod of his head. "Ja, that…that would be nice." Germany agreed. "We'll go after I'm done with all my paperwork." He added, turning back to sit properly in his chair. Prussia whipped around and loudly whined, "Oh come on! I want to go now!"

Germany sighed and simply shook his head at his elder brother.

* * *

Later, after dinner, the two brothers journeyed into town and made their way to the local pub. It was an old place—it had been around since Germany had only just appeared—and family owned. Every man in town seemed to flock there at night to unwind after a hard day's work and Prussia and Germany were no exception. They entered the pub and took two empty seats at the bar.

As they waited for the barkeep to come around, they talked.

"Your boss is a nut," Prussia commented. "He's working you ragged it seems." The Prussian whined. Really, this had been the first time in weeks that Germany has any free time to just sit back and relax a little.

Germany sighed and nodded his head, agreeing with his brother. "He was practically foaming at the mouth at our last meeting. He kept ranting on and on about proving how great I am to the rest of the world and cleansing Europe of the Jews—whatever that means. What good will deporting them do anyway?" Germany asked. Prussia shrugged. "The Jews have never had it easy. I remember when I was the Teutonic Knights how the other knights would talk about the Holy Wars in Israel; heavy stuff, West. This isn't the first time people didn't want the Jews around and it won't be the last, trust me." Prussia said. "But still," Germany insisted. "I don't get how getting rid of them will help me or anyone else in Europe. When we started sending them away, we lost countless tax-paying citizens, as well as doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientist. I don't see how it can do any good. And what of those children—" "West," Prussia cut him off. "You shouldn't talk about that sort of thing in public," He said, gesturing with his head to a couple men down the bar giving them quizzical looks. "It's dangerous to speak out against anything the government does nowadays." Prussia stated. Germany gave his brother a confused look, but nonetheless nodded his head and shut his mouth on the topic.

When they were served their beers, Germany opened a new topic of discussion.

"Brother, do you remember your childhood?" Germany asked. Prussia raised an eyebrow at Germany, at first, but then simply shrugged and replied, "Some things better than others, but for the most part, yes. I remember my Vater, Germania, and my Mutti, Ancient Baltia—I also remember back when Hungary and I were just kids! Did you know that she used to think penises grew—" "Brother!" Germany interrupted Prussia enthusiastic story-telling with a deep-red blush. Prussia laughed at him, of course. "You are too chaste, West!" He said in-between cackles. Germany scowled at him as he sipped his beer. "What made you ask anyway?" Prussia asked as his laughter died down and he sipped his own beer.

Germany was quite for a few moments before stating his concerns regarding what Italy told him earlier. "After I dragged Italy back after he ran away from training, I asked him how he has survived as long as he has with zero fighting capabilities or common sense. He said he didn't know because couldn't remember his life very clearly prior to the Great War. Is that normal? Do other nations not remember their lives prior to becoming independent?" He asked worriedly. Prussia looked disturbed by this for several moments as he mulled it over. "None that I can think of," Prussia replied after a long silence. "I mean, you and I both remember our lives clearly, right?" He asked. Germany nodded. "That's why I found it so odd when he said that," Germany said. "I mean I don't remember everything from when I was little, but I at least remember the wars and training and my usual day-to-day life." He added.

"It couldn't be because he's so old," Prussia suggested. "He's not that much younger than me. Like many of the countries here in Europe, Italy and I were both born in the latter end of the first millennium, but I don't think any of them have lost any of their memories." Prussia continued. The air around the brother's became solemn for a moment or so before Prussia barked an obnoxious laugh and suggested, "Maybe all the pasta he eats has replaced parts of his brain and that's why he can't remember!" He laughed. "Brother, that's cruel." Germany chastised, though he had a hard time fighting down a smile at the joke.

"Barkeep! Two more beers, please!" Prussia called.

"Comin' up!" The Barkeep shouted over the loud hum of the pub.

* * *

When the German brothers returned home to the estate that night, everyone was already in bed. They drunkenly parted ways at the top of the stair case as Germany headed to his bedroom—where Italy was probably waiting for him—while Prussia made his way to his own room down the hall…but not before making a pit stop at Hungary's room.

"Hungary, Hungary, wake up," Prussia whispered harshly, shaking Hungary's sleeping form just a little too roughly. "Hmm, P-Prussia…What are you doing, demon-d*ck-face?" She muttered sleepily as her eye cracked open and she scowled up at him. "West and I just got back from the pub," He slurred. "I noticed," She grumbled, sitting up slowly. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of alcohol coating Prussia' breath. "What the hell do you want, though?" She asked quizzically. "We talked about Italy and how he doesn't remember anything from his past," Prussia explained with a slur here and there. God, Hungary wanted to hit him. "So? We both know why." She said. "Yeah," Prussia agreed. "But West doesn't; I think we should tell him." Prussia said.

Hungary smacked him on the back of his head. "We can't do that!" She nearly shouted; it instead came out as a harsh whisper. "Ow! Why not?" Prussia griped as he tried to sooth his injured scalp. "Because then he'll tell Italy and we can't let Italy remember what happened!" Hungary answered with a growl. "Why? What's the worst that could happen?" Prussia slurred. "It could happen all over again! Italy could do it all again if he remembered!" Hungary growled. "It could all happen again…" Hungary repeated, a pained look coming into her eyes, sadness corrupting her tone of voice. Prussia saw this and developed the same look on his own face as Hungary. One of remorse.

A solemn silence settled over both nations.

"We can't ever let him remember all that happened…not again." Hungary stated, breaking the silence. "Not after last time." She added with a grim look. Prussia nodded. "Sorry about that by the way." He apologized with a slur. Hungary sighed and shook her head. "Forget about it; Italy sure did." She responded with a breathless, humorless laugh as she layed back down. Prussia copied her motions to lay beside her on the bed.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Hungary growled. "Sleeping." Prussia slurred drowsily as his eyes closed. "Not in my bed, you aren't!" Hungary snapped, kicking Prussia off her bed, sending him to the cold, hard, wooden floor. "Ow! B*tch, what was that for?" Prussia shouted from the floor, not bothering to get up. "You are not sleeping in my bed, Prussia." Hungary said firmly, rolling over in bed, away from Prussia. "Oh come on! My bedroom's all the way down the hall!" Prussia whined, still refusing to get up off the floor unless it was to crawl back into Hungary's nice, big, warm bed. "No way! You can sleep on the floor for all I care!" Hungary said, rejecting his whines and pleas. Prussia groaned and curled into a ball on the floor. "Fine then!" He slurred angrily, shutting his eyes tightly. "I'll just sleep here." He said.

Several moments of silence passed before Hungary got up with a growl of frustration, grabbed an extra blanket from her closet and a pillow off her bed, and tossed them to Prussia on the floor. "I'm not taking care of you if you get sick, *ss-hole!" She snapped as she crawled back into bed. "Thanks for the blanket, tranny!" Prussia slurred from the floor quietly. "You're welcome, Albino-Ass-Face." Hungary said with a yawn.


	2. Chapter 2

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 2: The Unknowingly Well-Trained Soldier

* * *

After Austria came to live with Germany, of course, Hungary dutifully tagged along. And Prussia and Italy both free-loaded around, as well. Japan came to visit every now and again. The other Axis members also stopped by sometimes. In short, Germany's house was a very busy place.

Germany usually was either in his office, training—or at least trying to train—Italy, and if not doing either of those things, he was trying to relax and hang out with his dogs or have some alone-time to read or something. Italy usually hang around a few days at a time at Germany's house; at least until Romano worked up the courage to come barging in and drag him back home. During his time there, though, Italy usually did all the cooking, took siestas, ran away from training with Germany, and did, you know, Italian stuff. Like draw and talk about girls and whatever. Austria had sank to Prussia's level, it seemed. He basically lounged around all day and played his piano. But at least he kept a steady flow of peaceful, pretty music going all day. It seemed to calm everyone's nerves. When Japan was around, he usually talked business with Germany, and at least tried to do more informal and friend-like things with him and Italy. He also hang out with Prussia sometimes. As for Prussia, he pestered Germany and Austria a lot, but other than that, he was kind of a do-nothing. At least he helped clean up after his self, though, Hungary thought with a scowl.

As you can imagine, with all the people around, Germany's house could get quite messy everyday, and no one really had time—or at least didn't bother to—clean up. Except for Hungary. Hungary spent her time at Germany's house cleaning. She cleaned the living room and kitchen, she made the beds—except Germany's and Prussia's, who made their own—she did all the laundry, she did the dishes, she swept the floors, and did the grocery shopping. It was just like back when she worked for Austria.

Well, not exactly, Hungary thought as she swept the walkway leading up to the front steps of Germany's house. Italy certainly wasn't wearing dresses anymore, she thought with a laugh under her breath. And Austria certainly wasn't leading any Holy Roman Empire, she thought with another, though shorter-lived laughed. Yes, Holy Roman Empire was gone now, Hungary thought. Gone, disappeared, and replaced by his own little brother, Germany. Hungary nearly felt like crying just thinking about it. Over a century since the boy's death and she still nearly brought to tears every time he came to mind.

"_Miss Hungary~!" _

Hungary jolted in surprise as she was suddenly tackled to the ground from behind. "What the hell?!" She screeched. She felt a weight on her back and heard the familiar crying of Italy as he clutched on to for dear life. Suddenly, she heard the loud stomping of combat-boots against cobblestone, and Germany's loudest, most authoritive voice shouting, "Italy, get off Hungary this instant! You may have harmed her!" The weight on her back disappeared as Germany ripped Italy off of her. As Germany reprimanded Italy for recklessly tackling her, Hungary slowly got up.

She felt a fond smile creep onto her lips as she saw Italy cry for Hungary to help him as Germany shouted at him for running away from training once again. It reminded her so much of the good old days…

"_Miss Hungary! Miss Hungary!" Little Italy, in his little green maid's outfit, cried into Hungary's apron. "Holy Rome won't leave me alone! He's scaring me!" He cried. Hungary laughed light-heartedly and picked Italy up and balanced him on her hip. "Now, now, Italy; I'm sure Holy Rome didn't mean any harm." She soothed the young, crying Italy. A few feet away, a brooding Holy Rome protested, "You shouldn't have ran away! You should become the new Roman Empire with me, Italy!" Again, Hungary laughed. Kids were so cute, especially when they had a crush. _

"I apologize, Hungary, for Italy's behavior." Germany apologized with a bow of his head. Hungary gave a light laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "No harm done, Germany. Italy used to come running to me all the time as a child for help; he just doesn't know his own strength now that he's older." Hungary replied. Germany nodded his head and smiled. "It's hard to believe Italy has any strength at all. I was surprised he took you down so easily, actually. I mean, you are quite strong, while Italy is…really weak." Germany trailed off. On the ground, a groveling Italy abruptly stopped crying to pout up at Germany. Hungary laughed as Germany tried his damnedest not to look down at Italy's kicked-puppy-like face.

"You'd be surprised, Germany," She laughed. "Italy is stronger than he appears." She said. Germany looked at her with surprise, while Italy stood up and rushed over and gave her a hug. "Thanks, Miss Hungary!" Italy cheered as he hugged her. Hungary laughed happily again and hugged him back. "You're welcome, Italy." She replied. Germany, however, still seemed perplexed by what she had said.

"Italy…is strong?" He muttered under his breath disbelievingly.

* * *

Hungary helped Italy make dinner later that night, mostly to make sure he didn't make pasta again. Everyone was getting sick of lasagna and ravioli real fast and it was up to Hungary to make sure he at least tried to make something else for once. Italy whined of course when Germany, Prussia, and Austria had suggested wurst, so Hungary decided that they would make something like pasta, only not pasta, to appease the Italian chef; they decided to make chicken noodle, mashed potatoes, spinach, and carrots.

"I'll shave and cut the carrots while you peel and slice the potatoes, okay?" Hungary instructed, handing Italy a peeler. They sat on different ends of the kitchen island and peeled and shaved away quietly. They soon found themselves both humming the same tune—something by Beethoven that Austria had been playing all day it seemed. Hungary was surprised when Italy was the first one to grab a knife. The boy was surprisingly good with a peeler.

Hungary watched Italy as he cut each potato quick and fast with expert precision. He held and maneuvered the knife skillfully, cutting each potato perfectly. He didn't even seem to think about it as his hands moved. It made Hungary's stomach turn. Most humans and nations would assume that Italy's skill with a knife was a product of being an experienced chef. But no; Hungary knew that Italy's skill with a blade had developed long before his skills in the kitchen. Hungary knew that Italy's skills were deadly…even though Italy didn't know it.

"_Miss Hungary, I want to practice with you!" Little Italy pleaded as Hungary prepared to go out train with her troops. She was preparing to go to battle against Prussia over Silesia and she needed to shake the dust off before they went to battle. It had been a long time since she had fought in war herself and she needed to be ready. _

"_Italy," Hungary said with surprise. "You really want to practice with me? Why?" She asked. "Because I want to help! Please, Miss Hungary, Austria won't let me do anything besides clean and draw. And Holy Rome bullies me! Please let me train with you, please!" Italy pleaded. The little cross-dresser seemed about ready to cry. Still, Hungary did not allow Italy to train with her, so not to undermine Austria or Holy Rome's authority. It was a silly and childish request anyway; what use was it for Italy to train. He was incapable of being trained. He was too naive, too innocent and sweet, she thought, to ever be a fighter. _

Hungary didn't know it at the time, but Italy's request to train was not a silly, childish request. He really did have potential to become stronger. But she and Austria and Holy Rome had all dismissed him as a weakling, as an underling who could not fight. If only they had known…

* * *

When dinner was ready, everyone sat down at the dinner table. Everyone—save Italy—was very happy to see something other than pasta on the table. Dinner was full of the usual chatter. Italy and Prussia were the most enthusiastic conversationalist, with Hungary taking second place. Germany and Austria were quiet for the most part, only speaking when spoken to.

Except Germany asked Prussia an interesting question half-way through the meal…

"Brother, you've trained Italy in the past, correct?" Germany asked, setting down his fork. He meant business, everyone knew. The table became abruptly quiet. "Yeah," Prussia responded with a raised eyebrow. "And, you actually made progress?" Germany asked half-hopefully, half-curiously. "He's independent, ain't he?" Prussia pointed out with a grin and slap on Italy's back. Italy yelped and nearly fell face-first into his plate, but still managed to smile and nod his head happily at Prussia's words. Still, he felt his stomach clench for some reason, though he didn't know why. Prussia grinned a moment longer, before asking Germany, "Why do you ask? Curious about my awesome training methods, West?" Everyone shuddered at the wicked gleam that flashed through the albino's eyes, but made no comment of it. They had all heard the stories about what he did to America during his revolution against Britain.

Germany fidgeted a moment as he explained his reasons to his brother, "I've been having trouble training, Italy…and I was just wondering…would…would you…h-help me?" The table was silent for several moments before Prussia broke out laughing. "Coming to your big bro for help now are ya? Oh this is rich! Mr. Hard-*ss-Military-Man has to ask his big brother for help!" Prussia cackled, nearly falling out of his chair. He did fall out of his chair, however, when Hungary hit with her frying pan, putting an abrupt end to his laughter. Thank God, Germany and Austria thought.

"Okay, I'll help you." Prussia responded with a pain-filled moan from the floor. A blushing Germany nodded his head and said his thanks to both Hungary and Prussia. Austria simply shook his head at the antics going on at the dinner table. Italy, however, trembled without much notice from anyone else as he poked at his chicken noodles. He did not take a bite, however.

For some reason, he felt sick all of a sudden.


	3. Chapter 3

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 3: Retrain, Retrain, Pasta (Abuse, Abuse, Pasta)

* * *

Germany never, ever regretted anything more in his life than asking his brother to help him train Italy. He had intended for his brother to come in and give his two-cents-worth on Germany's own techniques and maybe step in occasionally. The worst that could happen, Germany originally thought, was that Prussia would go soft on Italy like he usually did. After all, Prussia did harbor an unusual…crush…on Italy—which annoyed Germany for some reason, but I digress—and the albino tended to be almost disturbingly nice and affectionate towards the Northern Italian.

But that was not the case, however, when it came to training, apparently. You see, there were two sides to Prussia—the egotistical jerk side that was often the culprit of many wacky, somewhat annoying antics, and then there was the other side: the hard-*ss, military, strict, slightly-abusive side with a sadistic love of whips. The first day that Prussia joined Germany and Italy for training, from the moment Prussia showed up, Italy was trembling in fear and Germany was stunned/awe-struck/kind-of afraid.

Prussia showed up in full-uniform—immaculate and intimidating as ever—riding-crop in hand and a stone-cold expression gracing his features. Germany had seen his brother this way before, of course, but this time, something felt different. Germany realized what that something was when Prussia fixed him with a hard glare and barked an order at him to fall in line with Italy. Maybe it was his pre-conditioning from childhood—or just plain out fear—but Germany fell in line almost automatically, back straight, shoulders back, eye forward. Prussia smiled—not grinned—smiled to his self with pride at that. He must be smug about being able to still boss him around, Germany thought irritably. He did not voice this, however, because at the moment, Prussia kind of scared the crap out of him.

It was a brief moment after Germany fell in line that the smile on Prussia's face disappeared and he turned his red-eyed glare on quivering little Italy. Italy flinched under Prussia's gaze, absolutely terrified. Germany found this peculiar. Italy had never reacted that way towards him; why was Prussia affecting him that way? Germany knew he and his elder brother were different, but so much so that one scared Italy more than the other? And Prussia was the scarier one?!

Prussia came to loom over Italy and looked the Italian straight in the eye and barked out, "Drop and give me twenty!" Germany felt his shoulders sag the moment those words left Prussia's mouth, and he immediately lost all hope that Prussia would be of any help in training Italy. He himself had used the same tactic on Italy several times: intimidating stance, loud, authoritive voice, and what not. It had never worked, as Italy simply whined about it until Germany caved and they moved onto some other futile attempt at training.

Germany was just about to let out a sigh of disappointment when he saw something he never thought he'd see in anything other than a dream. Italy dropped down before Prussia to the ground and started doing push-ups. Even more unbelievably, he was doing them well. Not especially fast or one-armed or anything, but he was at least doing better than Germany expected—he was even doing actual guy push-ups, not girl push-ups like Germany thought he would. Italy was doing push-ups; real, not-half-*ssed push-ups! Germany was so excited he could have hugged Prussia and Italy both in that moment, except he didn't want to interrupt what he had been waiting years to see.

In that moment, Germany thought that bringing in Prussia to help train Italy was the best decision that he had ever made…he changed his mind twenty minutes later.

Apparently, Prussia thought it only fair that if Italy was going to be subjected to his training—abuse—than Germany was going to join him. Germany could do nothing but nod his head and drop and do twenty push-ups as well. Now was not the time to argue with his brother. Germany, at first, thought it wouldn't be so bad to train alongside Italy. They could build a better since of camaraderie, bond over something other than Germany saving Italy's *ss every other week. But Prussia was merciless; just when Italy and Germany were about to finish their push-ups, he yelled at them to go faster and added on twenty more. Then he added fifty, then a hundred—Germany and Italy did 200 push-ups before Prussia finally let them get up, only to yell at them to run ten laps around the training field pronto.

Prussia kept them at it until sunset. He worked them to the point of exhaustion and made them do drills and marching exercises. Prussia's stern behavior actually surprised Germany a bit; but even more surprising was that Italy didn't try to run-away even once. In fact, the Italian didn't even speak once during training—not even a whine of discontent or shriek of fear—unless spoken to by Prussia. Germany couldn't help but fear something was wrong with Italy.

He intended to talk about it with Italy after training, but the moment they, along with Prussia, returned to the main household, Italy rushed up to his room—which he used only for storage—saying something about needing to take a bath because he was sweating so badly. Germany was surprised at this. Usually, right after training—if you could even call it that after today—Italy made pasta and took a siesta.

But no; Italy went straight upstairs and did not come down for the rest of the evening, not even for dinner. Hungary had even made pasta in hopes of luring him down, but alas, Italy resisted the call of his favorite food.

Even more disturbing…Italy stayed in his room for the rest of the night, and he did not crawl into Germany's bed that night.

Germany didn't sleep a wink.

* * *

The next morning, Italy came down stairs for breakfast with his usual cheery demeanor and everyone, including Germany, was relieved. He sat his self down next to Germany and jabbered on and on about useless things like how he thinks Germany's bed is much more comfortable than the one in his room, and that he was really hungry because he fell asleep early last night and slept right through dinner.

After breakfast, as he and Germany approached the training field, he also commented on harsh and scary Prussia was—so much so that he was afraid to talk or disobey him apparently—and how he was really, really tired after training yesterday. Germany listened contently and smiled to his self; everyone was Italy's odd behaviors were accounted for. His lack of speech and his unusual obedience during training, skipping dinner, and not coming to Germany's bed that night; nothing was wrong, Germany thought with relief, his brother was simply a very good drill-sergeant.

So he paid no mind when Italy repeated his behavior from yesterday during training that that day.


	4. Chapter 4

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 4: Miss Hungary's Heart Break & Italy's Too

* * *

A week had passed since Prussia began training Germany and Italy, and since then there had been a drastic change in Italy. A very good change if you asked Germany.

Everyday, Italy woke up in his own bed—not in Germany's—at the same time as everyone else—Germany didn't have to use death threats to wake him up any more—and he'd come downstairs and eat whatever was on the table, pasta or not. At training, he never dared to run away or whine or cry. He was obedient like the good soldier Germany always hoped he would be. After training, Italy always went straight upstairs, and he would stay there until he came down to make dinner and eat. Germany was so relieved; everything was finally working out in his favor.

Others did not see Italy's behavior so favorably, however.

* * *

"I guess you're wondering why I asked you to help me go grocery shopping today," Hungary said as she and Italy made their way through the market place. Italy looked at confusedly. "I thought you needed my help carrying everything." He said, holding the basket filled of fruits, vegetables, and wrapped meat from the butcher that he had been carrying for Hungary as evidence. Hungary shook her head at the young man. A silence fell between them as they walked, Hungary staring down at her feet, and Italy looking at her worriedly.

Hungary halted her steps and took a deep breath. She faced Italy determinedly and asked something Italy never expected: "What do you remember?" Italy stared at Hungary with wide, confused eyes for several moments. Both nations did not speak. Hungary's determined gaze did not waver, but a frown deepened by the minute on Italy's face. Hungary waited patiently for Italy's answer. She needed to know; she needed to know if it was happening all over again. They stood there for perhaps five or six minutes, and they were the longest minutes in Hungary's life.

"Miss Hungary," Italy began with a confused tilt of his head and a frown. "I don't remember anything." He said. Hungary's shoulders slumped at his words and her determined gaze was finally let down. Italy continued to look at her quizzically, however. "Was I supposed to remember something?" He asked. He frowned as he asked, "Did you lose the grocery list, Miss Hungary?" Hungary laughed lightly and nodded her head, lying to the younger nation. "Yeah. Silly me, I left it on the kitchen counter back at Germany's house. I've been relying on memory this whole time." She lied.

Internally, she gave a sigh of relief. She had no need to worry anymore. Germany was probably right. Prussia must have just been doing really well training Italy.

Italy laughed cheerfully. "Miss Hungary, what a silly mistake! You usually don't forget things like that!" Italy laughed, Hungary joining him. The mood around the two was suddenly very bright and happy as per usual of the two. When their giggles passed, Italy gleefully volunteered to go back to Germany's house and get the list, but Hungary denied him and instead said that they probably had all they needed and that they should head back.

* * *

When they returned back to Germany's house and began unloading the groceries, they chattered as usual about their days.

"Austria played the prettiest song earlier today while you and the others were out training," Hungary commented dreamily as she put items away in the refrigerator. Italy gave a whine. "Oh, I wish I could have heard it." Italy commented sadly as he arranged the foods in the pantry. "Austria always plays the nicest music." He added glumly. Hungary nodded her agreement, "Yeah, he sure does." She said. Suddenly, however, her aura became gloomy. Sensing his friend's mood, Italy worriedly asked, "What's wrong?" Hungary shook her head dismissively and replied, "Nothing…I'm just…" Hungary paused and let out a low, humorless laugh. "I'm just jealous, you see." She admitted.

Italy gave Hungary a confused look. "Of what? Austria's music?" He asked. Hungary nodded. Italy smiled at Hungary then and closed the distance between them to give her a hug. "Awe, Miss Hungary, there's no need to be jealous of Austria's talent; you're talented at a whole bunch of things. Like fighting, and cleaning, and boy, you and Japan are really good at taking pictures of perverted junk like in the magazines under Germany's—" Italy was cut-off mid-sentence by a flustered Hungary pushing him away and furiously shaking her head. "I didn't mean it that way, Italy, but thank you!" She rushed out. Once again, Italy gave the older nation a confused look. "Than what are you jealous of?" He asked. Hungary sighed and tried her best to explain her feelings to Italy. "I'm jealous of Austria's music, yes," She began. "But not for the reasons you might think…Italy, have you ever felt jealous of someone because they were closer to someone you like than you were?" She asked. Italy thought about for a few minutes and shook his head. Hungary seemed disappointed by that. Now it would be even harder to explain her feelings.

"Italy," Hungary began again. "Jealousy is an ugly thing. It ruins lives and relationships. That's why some couples fight a lot actually—because they love one another some much that they don't want the other to ever be as close to anyone else as they are to each other. Do you understand what I mean?" She asked. Italy nodded with a smile. Hungary offered a smile in return. "But the thing is, Italy, jealousy isn't a good thing, even with good intentions. If a couple really loves each other, they don't get jealous, because they know that they will never be replaced. They know that because they feel secure in their relationship; jealousy is the product of insecure relationship." Hungary explained. Italy nodded his head but gave a frown. "So jealousy is bad?" He asked. Hungary simply replied that it all depended before continuing on with her explanation.

Hungary took a deep breath and confessed to Italy then, "I don't feel secure in mine and Austria's relationship." Italy was shocked, wide-eyed, and speechless. Hungary took his silence as confusion and explained, "I don't feel like he needs me; I feel as if I could disappear of the face of the earth someday and he'd be perfectly fine. You know why he'd be perfectly fine?" Hungary asked. Italy shook his head numbly. "Because he was his stupid music," Hungary explained testily. But then she gave a sigh and calmed back down a little. "I just feel that if he didn't have his music, he'd love me more." She said. Italy frowned and gave Hungary another hug.

Miss Hungary's heart was breaking, Italy realized as Hungary returned the hug. He felt a pang of empathy for her then, and held her tightly. He knew exactly how she felt.

* * *

After dinner that night, after kissing everyone goodnight—despite their protests—Italy returned to his bedroom and locked the door behind. Quietly the young Italian undressed for bed, not bothering with pajamas as usual. It was as he undressed that he caught sight of a scar on his side in the mirror on his dresser. Italy solemnly glared at the scar's reflection, remembering what happened last week when he saw it…

_The first day of training with Prussia was grueling; so much so that Italy was absolutely exhausted when Prussia finally dismissed him and Germany. Italy wished he had ran away, but for some reason, he couldn't. His body wouldn't listen to him it seemed and something in the back of his head that just kept saying "Don't runaway. Don't be a coward." So he stayed and obeyed the nagging feeling and now he was regretting it. His body hurt all over, and he was stinky, too. He really needed a shower and a nap right away. _

_He went to his room instead of Germany's to get fresh clothes for after his shower—his uniform was disgusting and needed washed—and shower in his own bathroom as Germany had forbade Italy from using his. It was as he undressed that he saw a scar on his abdomen. It was a thick, perpendicular line about an inch long a few inches to the left of his bellybutton. On his back, Italy knew, there was a matching scar. He never knew where it came from, but he had had it since before Austria figured out he was a boy, he remembered vaguely. But other than that, he didn't remember where it had come from._

_Until now…_

_While in the shower, Italy was lathering up, and in the process, he ran a hand over the scar. Suddenly, he had a stomach ache, and he nearly slipped as he scrambled out of the shower to the toilet. He emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl, memories of Bavaria, blades, and blood, flashing before his eyes as he did. _

_He remembered rushing at Bavaria with a sword and Bavaria wielding a bayonet. Italy remembered the piercing pain in his side & his and Bavaria's mingled cries of pain. But more importantly, he remembered the face of someone standing nearby, behind Bavaria. _

_The Holy Roman Empire…_

After that, Italy remembered many things. He remembered Holy Rome chasing him around and bullying him for centuries before finally Austria took him over. He remembered how he and Holy Rome became friends, and later on, lovers. Sadly, he also remembered the day Holy Rome left.

But Italy still couldn't fill in many of the gaps in his memory, which troubled him for days, now. Everyday after training, he rushed up stairs to his room and tried and tired as hard as he could to remember more of what happened, but to avail. The only memory he had after Holy Rome left was of the brief fight he had with Bavaria, along with bits and pieces of his life as Austria's underling in 1800s'.

Italy was so afraid and so angry at the same time. He could barely sleep for the past week because of it all. But if anything kept him awake at night nowadays, it was the thought that someone—whether it be Austria, Hungary, or Prussia—knew what happened to Italy, why he and Bavaria were fighting, and never told him. They were keeping secrets from him, Italy knew now, and he felt so betrayed.

But what bothered Italy even more than the fact he had been lied to—what kept him awake as he lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling—was one question: What happened to the Holy Roman Empire?


	5. Chapter 5

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 5: Runaway Romano

* * *

As the weeks progressed, Italy grew stronger under Prussia's strict training. He was no where near as strong as Germany or Prussia, but he was at least able to keep up during training. Hungary doted on him constantly for it, telling him how proud she was. Austria was indifferent, it seemed, but Italy liked to believe he was proud, too. But if they were proud, Germany was even prouder, and so was Prussia—so proud they even invited him to go drinking with them.

* * *

"Doesn't this place have any wine?" Italy asked, staring with minor horror at the huge-looking mug of German beer in front of him. Prussia laughed at him and responded simply, "This isn't Florence, Italy!" Germany was much politer as he added, "Wine isn't a common drink in a small town like this, Italy; especially in times like these. Wine is more for a special occasion." Italy nodded understandingly, and slowly lifted the mug to his lips. It was surprisingly easy. He took a small sip, and a moment later, he wrinkled his nose. "I think I prefer wine." He said.

Germany and Prussia seemed a little insulted by the remark, but didn't say anything. Prussia ordered Italy a _Fanta _soda-pop instead. Italy seemed to like it more than the beer, and couldn't help but think that America made good soda. As the three drank, they chatted; Italy was pleased to see Germany more talkative and looser than usual, even making him jealous that Prussia probably saw him like this more than Italy did.

At one point in the evening, Prussia drunkenly rose from his seat at their booth, in the back of the tavern, and proposed a toast, drawing almost the entire tavern's attention. "I'd like to propose a toast to a dear old friend of mine: Feliciano Vargas. I didn't think much of him when he was a kid, but time and time again, he's proved me wrong—now look at him: a fine young soldier! Make us proud during this war, Feliciano, and we'll all prove the victors when this war is over!" Prussia slurred. The tavern erupted with whoops and howlers and cheers and clanking glasses as the men toasted to Italy's successful training. Italy felt a surge of pride as he and Germany made eye-contact from across the table.

Germany smiled and raised his glass and Italy mirrored his actions. Their glasses knocked together lightly and they both chugged down their beer and soda respectively.

* * *

They exited the tavern long after midnight, Prussia stumbling and gripping the more stable Germany's shoulder for support, Italy trailing behind them, completely sober. The full-moon lit up the cobblestone streets, allowing them to walk about without worry of stumbling over something hidden in the darkness. All the homes were dark, no windows had light peeking through the curtains as everyone was in bed, save for those still loitering around the tavern.

It was as they began trekking up hill through the woods back to the estate that Italy developed a sinking feeling his gut. Everything was quiet besides Prussia's drunken giggles, but that wasn't what put Italy off; it was the fact he felt as if someone was watching him. They were about a half-mile from the estate when Italy noticed something in the brush on the side of the road—something was shining in the moonlight. Something metallic—several things actually—were reflecting the moon's light through the think forest brush. What could it be? Italy wondered. Was it scrap metal that some farmer had discarded recklessly in the woods? Trash maybe?

Italy, Germany, and Prussia all froze when the sound of an engine roaring to life reached their ears. Suddenly, out of brush, a car burst through the forest brush and swerved to face them. With the top down, Italy could see who was inside—and he couldn't believe his eyes! Four men were inside the vehicle: a driver, two men with guns, and Romano, his big brother.

The two gunmen ordered the German brothers to put their hands up and get on their knees. Reluctantly, the disoriented, drunken Germans did so. Italy attempted to follow the same actions, but before he could, Romano hopped out of the car and rushed over to him and grabbed him by the arm. "Romano, what are you doing?" Italy asked nervously as Romano dragged him towards the car. "Getting you out of here, that's what!" Romano responded in his usual annoyed tone, though there was some anxiety to it. Germany and Prussia protested at that, but the gunmen silenced them with the butts of their guns. Italy dug his heels in the ground, and Romano turned towards him with a glare.

"What are you doing? We need to get outta here, pronto!" Romano snapped, pulling uselessly at Italy's arm. After a moment with no results, Romano let go and protested angrily, "Since when have you been so strong? Why are you being stubborn? We have to get out of here, now!" Italy stood his ground, though, and asked, "Why do we have to get out here? Why are you even here, Romano!" Romano didn't answer, instead he grabbed Italy's arm and once again tried to drag Italy towards the car. But, Italy didn't budge.

"Tell me, Fratello!" Italy protested loudly. Romano growled and finally answered, "We aren't Germany's ally anymore, that's why!" Italy froze for a moment and stared at Romano like he had gone mad. "W-What are you talking about? Germany is our friend, we can't—" He stammered, but Romano scowled. "The Allies have invaded Sicily—we have to get out of the Axis now or we'll regret it later! The Allies will show no mercy if we don't surrender soon!" Romano protested. Italy stubbornly shook his head. "No! I'm not running away this time—Germany needs us!" Italy responded. Romano seemed surprised by this, but still stubbornly tried to pull Italy towards the car.

The two brothers struggled before finally the gunmen intervened and began trying to assist Romano in dragging Italy. Italy dug his heels in the ground and pulled as hard as he could, struggling out of their grips—but still, they were stronger and before long, they were forcing him into the car. It was when Romano was trying to buckle him in that the brothers' eyes met and Italy glared at Romano. It was a brief glare—but it was a meaningful, hateful one. Romano looked like he had been punched in the gut when he saw it on Italy's usually-soft-gentle-face.

Romano unbuckled Italy then, despite the gunmen and the driver's protests. Italy scrambled out of the car, and before the gunmen could wrangle him in again, Romano ordered the driver to go. Italy watched as the car slowly made its way around the unconscious forms of Germany and Prussia, and then sped down the road at top speed, disappearing a couple miles down the road.

When the car was long gone, Italy ran up the hill to the estate and woke everyone up. Together, Austria, Hungary, and Italy struggled to drag Germany and Prussia uphill. Hungary looked after them while Austria made some calls to his and Germany's boss. Italy went to bed and cried his self to sleep.

His Fratello had betrayed him—he had betrayed everybody. Italy knew Romano had always favored the Allies over the Axis; he never liked Austria much since he was a kid, and he wasn't very close to Hungary, and he despised Germany. He, Japan, and Prussia were on okay terms, but still…Romano had no reason to stick with Axis if things went south for them during this war. Italy did, however; Austria practically raised him, Hungary was like the big sister he never had, and Prussia, Japan and Germany were his best-friends. He had every reason to stay.

Still…Italy felt in odd twist in his gut—which he had felt a lot lately—at the thought of turning against his friends. It was a familiar feeling, he knew deep down, but he couldn't place when he had felt it before. But he knew he had done it before—when, where, and who he betrayed, he didn't know. But he would find out, Italy swore as he dozed off. He would find out everything.

* * *

The next morning, five military officers came to the estate early in the morning. Three of them investigated the road where Italy, Germany, and Prussia had been ambushed while the other two questioned Italy on what happened. He told them everything, not leaving out any details. It didn't matter; by now, Romano was probably back in Rome. The officers wrote down every word, and also took statements from everyone else (Germany, Prussia, Hungary, and Austria) and some people in town. They left around lunch time, saying they would report this to Germany's boss.

Somehow, Italy knew that Germany's next meeting with his boss wouldn't go well.

* * *

Training was called off for the day, seeing as Prussia and Germany had killer hangovers. Hungary offered to make lunch as she believed Italy needed sometime to his self, and Italy asked her to bring it up to his room later. Of course, Hungary agreed.

* * *

Hungary made pasta for lunch especially for Italy. She arranged his plate, along with some bread and milk, on a platter and carefully carried it up stairs to Italy's room. Balancing the platter on her hip, she knocked on Italy's door with the back of her hand. A moment later, Italy opened the door and let her inside with his usual unusually bright smile.

For some reason, Hungary was put off by the smile. Sure, Italy was a cheerful person, but considering his brother just turned traitor and attempted to kidnap him, even he should have been a little down in the dumps. Still, she entered the room and set the platter down on the desk in Italy's room, which was littered with art supplies and looked absolutely filthy. In fact, the entire room seemed messy; the floor littered with dirty clothes, the bed unmade, and the dirty dishes piled on the nightstand, most likely from midnight snacking.

Hungary set the platter down gently after clearing a space for it on the messy desk. She froze, however, when she heard the door click shut behind her. Slowly, she turned around to see Italy with a serious look on his face, his hand on the door knob. "Italy," Hungary said quietly. "Why did you lock the door?" She asked with a bit of fear in her voice. Italy kept a stern look on his face—one that made a chill go down Hungary's spine—and met her gaze bravely.

"Miss Hungary," Italy began with a solemn tone.

"What happened to the Holy Roman Empire?" He asked, watching Hungary's green eyes widen in horror.


	6. Chapter 6

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 6: Answers

* * *

Hungary remained frozen where she stood, unable to speak. But Italy was patient and waited. Several moments passed before Hungary managed to stammer something out. "I-I don't know what you're talking about Italy." She said, though the look on Italy's face clearly told her that he didn't believe her one bit.

Sighing in defeat, Hungary slowly made her way to sit at the foot of Italy's bed. Her eyes fixed on her lap, she asked for Italy to sit next to her. Italy did so, and took her hand in his as she began. "How much do you remember?" She asked first off. "Everything from before I was conquered by Austria right up until Holy Rome left for the Thirty Years War…and…Hungary," Italy trailed off. Hungary looked at him worriedly. Did he remember…

"Hungary," Italy began again. "Did Bavaria and I ever have a fight? Like…a really, really bad one?" Italy asked. Hungary felt a mix of relief and dread at his words. She briefly considered lying to him, but dismissed the idea quickly. Italy had been lied to enough. "Yes. There was a battle, you see, during Napoleon's invasion of Austria. By then, Napoleon had already taken you over and he forced you to fight Bavaria." She explained, taking his hands in hers and keeping his gaze as she did. Italy seemed utterly shocked by her words. "I—I don't remember any of that. How could Napoleon take me over—Austria had troops stationed all over my land!" Italy whispered in surprise.

Hungary shook her head at the boy. "He had help, Italy…Italy…you…" She took a deep breath. "You helped Napoleon." She said. Italy's eyes grew wide in shock and horror. His mouth fell agape. "I…betrayed Austria…and Holy Rome?" Italy asked. To his horror, Hungary nodded her head. But before he ask her countless questions, she continued, "But Napoleon betrayed you and sent to back to live with Austria. But a week later, he showed up near the Manor and ordered you to attack Bavaria. You two got hurt really bad, though, and had to be taken back to the Manor during the battle." Italy nodded his head, vaguely starting to remember a battle of some kind. But still…

"How did I lose my memories, Hungary?" Italy asked finally. Hungary was quiet for a long time. "You hit your head during the battle…you were out for weeks." She explained. Italy nodded his head, accepting her explanation. Still, he kept a serious expression. "You still haven't answered my first question, though," Italy said, filling Hungary's stomach with dread. "Hungary, what happened to the Holy Roman Empire?" Italy asked.

Several silent moments passed…

"Holy Rome died, Italy." Hungary answered somberly.

Italy froze.

"How?" He asked, choking a sudden sob.

"In battle during the Napoleonic Wars…He disappeared, Italy." Hungary replied.

Italy broke down sobbing then, leaning against Hungary's shoulder for support as he wept. Hungary began to cry as well, and pulled the Italian into an embrace, her right hand running through his hair, trying to provide him comfort.

"I'm sorry, Italy…I'm so sorry," Hungary whispered into Italy's hair as her fingers ran over a scar, hidden by the boy's auburn locks.

* * *

An hour later, Hungary left Italy's room. She didn't travel far however, as she locked her self in her room down the hall a few moments later.

Hungary fell into bed and cried into her pillow until she fell asleep later that night. Guilt wracked her system as she wept; she felt as if she was the most despicable person on earth. She had lied to Italy yet again. Here she had a chance to right over a century of wrongs, and she blew it selfishly. And why? Just so she could act like none of it ever happened; like Italy was some weakling who could only ever be a cowardly underling, sweet and innocent.

Hungary knew the truth though. It was a truth that had plagued her and Prussia for decades. The truth that Italy willingly attacked Bavaria; that Italy didn't lose his memories due to a blow to the head; that he fought through the entire battle, even after he was injured by Bavaria; that Italy was the one who killed Holy Rome.

Hungary knew the truth…but Italy never would. Not if she had anything to say about it.

* * *

**A/N: Just to clarify, part of what Hungary told Italy was the truth, but part of it was lies. But only those you read the Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories know what's the truth and what's a lie. As for you guys who didn't read it, you'll just have to wait and find out what _really _happened.**


	7. Chapter 7

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 7: The Arrest of North Italy

* * *

Italy felt better after his talk with Hungary. He finally knew the truth, after all. Finally, he felt some peace. No longer did he have to sit up at night and wonder about his past. Even though he had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind pestering him about all the gaps still left in his memory, Italy didn't care. Finally, he had peace.

Everything was going so well, too. Italy was doing well in his training, making Germany so proud of him. He was even managing to earn Austria's respect. Hungary and Italy had come to an understanding that they would not speak of their conversation in Italy's room, and since then, they had become each other's confidants.

Sadly, there was less than bright side to everything. Hungary, as of late, had been becoming distant from Austria, Italy noticed. She didn't dote on him as much as she used to. Even worse, Austria didn't seem to notice or even care. Italy wondered if there was anything he could do, of course, but Hungary always told him it was fine, that they were just having a rough patch in their relationship. Italy respected Hungary's wishes, and stayed out of it, still, he felt sorry for Hungary.

Even with the trouble in his friends' relationship, Italy felt rather chipper as he arrived on the training field one fateful morning where Prussia and Germany were waiting him. Prussia had on his stern drill sergeant face, while Germany had a smile on his face as Italy approached. Italy couldn't help but find it funny how as of late, during training, it seemed that Prussia and Germany had traded personalities. In the last few weeks, it had been a nice change, Italy thought.

Italy fell in line with Germany as usual and waited for Prussia to begin training. But just as Prussia opened his mouth to speak, three officers—officers Italy recognized from the investigation done a few weeks ago—rounded the corner, calling Italy's name, not Germany's or Prussia's.

"Feliciano Vargas?" The Lead Officer asked. "Uh, yes?" Italy replied with a minor stammer. The officers did look rather intimidating and seemed to mean business. They approached him with heavy, purposeful foot falls, faces hard. Germany and Prussia, sensing the aggressiveness of the officers, tried to step in and ask what was going on, but were pushed aside. As the officers came to stand before him, Italy considered running away for the first time in weeks. He did not…unfortunately.

The Lead Officer stood before Italy and took a clean, crisp white envelope out from his jacket and handed it to Germany, who stood beside him, trying to ask what was going on. The Lead Officers eyes never left Italy's. "Feliciano Vargas," The Lead Officer began as the other two officers came to stand behind Italy. "You are hereby arrested under suspicion of conspiring against the Third Reich." The Lead Officer announced calmly. Italy's mouth fell agape as the officers behind him roughly yanked his arms back and slapped on the handcuffs.

Germany and Prussia were outraged, of course. "What the Hell are you talking about? Italy is no traitor!" Germany shouted, defending Italy. He grabbed the Lead Officer by the shoulder as Prussia shouted obscenities beside him. Italy watched as the two brothers shouted at the Lead Officer, who remained deadly calm. Finally, when Germany and Prussia paused briefly to breathe, the Lead Officer simply replied, "Read the letter inside that envelope. We have orders straight from the top, General Beilschmidt."

With that, the Lead Officer barked for the other officers to put Italy in the car waiting out front. As they practically dragged his stunned, frozen form, Italy caught a glimpse of a horrified looking Hungary and Austria in one of the windows overlooking the training field. The officers dragged Italy around the estate and across the front lawn, but just as they were passing through the wrought iron gates of estate, the front doors slammed open.

Italy looked over his shoulder and saw Hungary rushing towards them, crying. "What are you doing?" She shouted angrily. She grabbed one of the officers roughly by the shoulder, but he simply shook her off and continued dragging Italy towards the awaiting car parked in the middle of road just beyond the gate. Inside the car, two other officers were waiting; one in the driver's seat, another standing by an open door to the back seat of the vehicle.

As one of the officers climbed into the backseat, and he was pushed in to follow, Italy watched Hungary cry and shout angrily for them to stop, but she was held back by Austria. Austria was not impassive, however. He seemed upset as well, asking frantically as he restrained Hungary what was going on. The Lead Officer reappeared rounding a corner followed by Germany and Prussia, both of whom seemed red-faced. The Lead Officer remained unperturbed, however. He cut across the lawn, brushing past Hungary and Austria without a second glance, and with a formal tilt of his cap, he climbed into the front seat of the car.

Italy watched through the back window as the estate disappeared in the distance. In the road, eating the dust of the officers' car, his friends stood sadly. Just as they disappeared from his view, he was forced to face forward by one of officers beside him.

* * *

The car ride was long, it being nearly lunch time when they finally arrived at small jail in Berlin. It was a three-story brick building; the windows were barred and soldiers were posted at the doors. The car pulled up before the building, and the officers that arrested Italy got out while the others drove off. The officers dragged Italy up the front steps of the building and through the front doors, the guards not batting an eye at them.

They entered a foyer-like room first, and then they dragged Italy up a flight of stairs to an office-like room full of officers doing paper work at their desks. The desks were all facing the same direction, the same exact space between each one, creating aisles for walking through. Some glanced at them curiously as the officers walked Italy down an aisle, towards a closed door in the back of the room. Italy felt his stomach sink when a officer they passed gave Italy a sympathetic look.

The officers practically threw Italy into the room and slammed the door shut behind them after flicking on a dim light. The two underling officers dragged Italy up from the floor quickly and shoved him into a single chair in the middle of the room. The underling officers left the room then, leaving Italy alone with the Lead Officer.

The Lead Officer stood a mere few feet away from Italy with an unreadable expression. There was a long silence in the room, Italy too afraid to make a sound, and the Lead Officer simply looking at him with cold eyes. The Lead Officer scared him more than Germany and Prussia ever had, and they had only known each other a few hours—and they had barely spoken to one another directly! The silence stretched on for a long time before a single question was asked. "How much do you know, Mr. Vargas?" The Lead Officer asked.

When Italy didn't answer after a moment, the Lead Officer glared down at him, causing Italy to tremble. "I'll make myself clearer. What information do you have on the Allied Forces?" The Lead Officer asked with a harsher tone. This time, when Italy didn't answer, he was slapped across the face. Italy let out a cry as the Lead Officer barked his question again. "I don't know anything!" Italy cried, tears pricking his eyes and his cheek stinging like an angry bee. Again, he was slapped across the face, this time being knocked out of the chair to the floor.

As Italy cried on the floor, the Lead Officer growled, "We know you and your brother are working with the Allies—we have intelligence that the Italian Government is making negotiations with the Allied Forces as we speak!" Italy managed to shout in response, "I don't know anything, I swear!" He received a kick in the gut in response.

* * *

When the 'questioning' was done hours later, Italy was dragged to the basement of the building, down a long, dimly lit hall to another hall lined with small cells. A beaten Italy, bruised from head to toe and feeling as if his organs were liquefied, noticed that they were all empty.

He was dragged to a cell at the end of the hall. They swung open the iron-bar-doors, and the officers deposited the half-conscious Italian on a cot in a corner of the small cell. There was no pillow or blanket, the toilet on the other side of the cell smelled horrible, and the dripping water from the sink beside it was annoying; Italy didn't care, though, and he fell straight into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N: Poor, Italy...:'( Please review and comment.**


	8. Chapter 8

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 8: Captivity

* * *

_Day One…_

The first day, the day after he was arrested, was probably the hardest. An officer brought down his breakfast as the crack of dawn, awaking Italy with several hard bangs on the jail-cell bars. He slipped the tray of food under the door and slipped a cup between the bars and told him to fill it in the sink. Italy tiredly rolled off the cot, his wounds from the day before only half-healed despite his inhuman healing powers. To his disappointment, his breakfast was merely a cheese sandwich and an apple.

He ate his food quickly, however, having not eaten since breakfast the day before. But no sooner was he finished, three officers came for him and dragged him to interrogation room upstairs where the Lead Officer was waiting for him.

They returned him to his cell, beaten once again, hours later. They brought him food soon after that—a sandwich, an apple, and water—and he barely had the strength to chew his food.

He passed out as soon as his apple was chewed down to the core.

* * *

_Day Four…_

After three days, they gave up on getting information out of him. But they still suspected him. The Lead Officer told Italy that specifically as he was being taken back to his cell the final day of his interrogation. He would not be released until he was free of suspicion or confessed what he knew.

Italy was glad to see the end of the endless questioning. He spent the rest of the day in relief, resting, letting his wounds heal.

* * *

_Day Six…_

Boredom overtook him a few days later. After his wounds finally healed up and he relaxed a little, Italy found he didn't have much to do. No one to talk to, nothing to do; it was boring. Italy sat on his cot, staring at the ceiling, trying his best to think of something to do, put he just couldn't.

He did everything he could to stave off boredom. He counted the bricks on each wall, he tapped his thighs in rhythm with the dripping sink, whistled, hummed, paced. Still, he was bored.

* * *

_Day 11…_

If Italy was bored three days ago, now he was bored to tears. _Literally._ He cried almost all day the eleventh day of his captivity. But didn't just cry out of boredom; he cried out of loneliness. No one had spoken a word to him in a week—not even the officers who brought him his meager food.

He missed his friends terribly, as well. He actually missed training with Germany and Prussia. He missed Austria's music. He missed helping Hungary around the estate. Italy missed the rest of the Axis, too. Though he often wondered if they even knew what happened to him yet. He missed pasta a lot, too, of course. He was sick of plain sandwiches and water. But more than even pasta, he missed Germany.

* * *

_Day Fifteen…_

His meager food was cut down—instead of a sandwich and water, he simply received a small loaf of bread and water; nothing else. The bread was stale tasting, and the water from the sink tasted tainted—Italy tried to ignore the fact it seemed to be brown the first few seconds it came out the faucet.

Worse, his meals seemed to take longer and longer to come each day. Breakfast came long after he awoke in the morning, lunch arrived several hours after that, and dinner came at times when Italy was fighting to stay awake—if he fell asleep, he wouldn't get fed dinner at all.

Italy never craved pasta more in his life than he did now.

* * *

_Day Twenty-four…_

Italy spent an entire week crying. He spent an entire week thinking about things he never thought of before. He thought about escaping, maybe even dying (even if it was kind of impossible), about how he would rather be tortured everyday again by the Lead Officer than remain alone, trapped like this.

He dreamt of Germany's house every night. But he also had nightmares about being stuck in this cell for the rest of eternity. When he was awake, he was restless.

He paced endlessly. He cried endlessly.

He was alone.

* * *

_Day Twenty-seven…_

He screamed his head off all day, begging for someone, anyone to let him out. He cried and wailed, but no one came. Still he begged and he begged. They must have found him irritating, however, because that day they didn't feed him.

* * *

_Day Thirty…_

Italy curled up in a ball on his cot all day. He just laid there, quiet as a mouse, not crying, not screaming, simply thinking about how miserable he was. He thought about he was never getting out there. He was alone. Utterly alone.

His captors must have liked his submissiveness, as that day, he was given a sandwich with meat. It wasn't pasta, but Italy still loved it. It was the highlight of his entire month.

* * *

_Day Thirty-four…_

Italy broke down crying yet again. Not loud wails, but quiet whimpers. He didn't cry all day either. It was off and on throughout the day. He didn't even know why he cried anymore. He just cried.

He realized though that loneliness was a familiar feeling for him.

He just didn't know why.

* * *

_Day Thirty-eight…_

He wanted out so bad. That day, he thought all day long about how he might get out of there. He hoped, he wished, he prayed that his friends would somehow get him out. But if they couldn't get him out, he wondered, what would happen to him? Would he be stuck here until they figured out he was innocent—how long would that take anyway?—or until the war was over? But even after the war, he could still be stuck there. He could be stuck there for decades, actually.

He wouldn't die there, he knew, despite his earlier fears. He was a nation. If they tried to kill him, he wouldn't die; he'd be injured badly for weeks, but he wouldn't die—he wasn't _that_ weak of a country after all.

That thought, for some reason, itched at Italy's subconscious for days to come.

* * *

_Day Forty-seven…_

Italy found new ways to fight boredom. He started working out in his cell. He did push-ups, sit-ups, and stretches. It wasn't much fun, and frankly, after over a month of no training, it was actually pretty hard, but it was something to do.

* * *

_Day Fifty-one…_

Italy wasn't alone anymore. That day, some officers dragged two people down and threw them into the cells next to Italy's. One was a girl, Italy could tell by the feminine sobs, and the other a boy, because he was screaming and shouting for the officers to let them go. "Hello?" Italy called. His voice was weak, but the girl heard him. "Y-yes?" She called back with a sniffle. "H-Hi, I'm Feliciano. What are you in for, miss?" He called over the boy's shouts, his voice growing a little stronger. The girl sniffled a bit more and called back, "I'm Gertrude. Me and my boyfriend, Joshua, were swing-dancing at an underground dance club. But the police raided the place right in the middle of our performance!" The girl, Gertrude, cried. "I'm so sorry," Italy replied sympathetically. "Are you two alright? Did they hurt you?" He asked worriedly. "No," She replied. "And that boy isn't Joshua; he's Simon, another dancer from the club. When we were all arrested, they took us to a police station a few blocks from here. But it was over crowded because there were so many of us. So they dragged Simon and me here." Gertrude explained.

Italy and Gertrude talked all day long, and after he was done screaming and shouting uselessly, Simon joined them. Italy was so glad for their company. Even when Gertrude asked what he was in for, he was too happy not to reply, though he did bend the truth a little. "I'm a suspected accomplice to a crime. But I didn't have anything to do with it, I swear." He explained to Gertrude. Simon snorted at that. "Like they're going to believe you—nobody, even the innocent, are safe nowadays! The government is out to get everyone, I swear!" Simon growled in frustration. Gertrude sighed at that. "You're overreacting, Simon. It's not that bad." She said. Simon scoffed. "Says you—you didn't have your best friend deported for being a Jew! Hell, your dad works for the government; of course your okay with everything going on!" Simon snapped back. "Why are you two fighting? What's the government doing?" Italy asked. "Let us tell you," Simon began with a heavy sigh.

Italy listened with distress as Gertrude and Simon explained to Italy what was going on in Germany's government at the moment. Italy agreed with Simon that it seemed the government and Germany's boss were out to get just about everyone, but he could also understand why Gertrude didn't agree. She was after all, from a different background from Simon apparently.

Gertrude was from a well-off family of government-workers. Her father had even met Germany's boss because of his job. Gertrude had never met him personally, and knew little of anything her dad or Germany's boss did. But her family, apparently, only spoke of the good the government was doing. She didn't agree with a lot of things, however, like the ban against swing dancing and the promotion of racism. Still, she felt she had to defend the government because her family, Italy could tell.

Simon was from a working class family. His neighbors were Jewish, and his childhood best friend was Jewish as well. Simon spoke with anger and disgust at the memory of seeing his neighbors forced out of their home one day, never to be seen again, and that same day, his best friend not showing up at school. It was only weeks later that he found out that he was deported for being a Jew along with his neighbors. Simon hated the government for that, because since he was deported, Simon had not received one letter from his friend. He feared the worst.

Later that day, Gertrude and Simon were released from jail, leaving Italy alone once again, but they left him with a concept of what was going on in Germany at the moment at least. Italy was very worried for Germany and his people.

* * *

_Day Fifty-six…_

Italy thought about Germany all day that day, just as he had for the past four days already. He wracked his brain for answers as to why Germany would let all that Gertrude and Simon described to him go on. Never had he heard of such tyranny going on in a country without some protest from the nation itself. Was his friend Germany really so blind? Or worse, was he simply going along with it? Italy didn't know, but if Germany really was turning a blind eye to all this, Italy could not help but hate him a little for it.

* * *

_Day Fifty-nine…_

Italy heard a voice. He heard a disembodied voice, a familiar voice, calling out to him. For some reason, he broke down crying again.

* * *

_Day Sixty-two…_

Italy was someone that day besides the officer who brought him food.

He saw Holy Rome—still just a boy—standing before him, calling his name.

Again, he cried all that day. He was going crazy, now, he knew it.

* * *

_Day Seventy…_

Holy Rome's ghostly figure showed up everyday for Italy, and everyday, Italy would wail and cry because of it. It hurt to see and hear Holy Rome's voice. He sometimes called for help, but the guards never came. They knew he was nuts.

He must have started annoying them again, because they stopped feeding him again.

* * *

_Day Seventy-four…_

That day when Holy Rome's figure appeared, Italy didn't cry or wail or sob. He simply resigned his self to it and passed out. Still, Holy Rome's voice echoed through his subconscious and his figure appeared behind his closed eyelids.

That day, he remembered something.

He remembered almost everything that day.

That day, he knew Hungary was a liar.

* * *

**A/N: Note, Holy Rome's ghostly figure was a hallucination, not a real ghost. **


	9. Chapter 9

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 9: Released, but Not Free

* * *

After seventy-nine days in jail, Italy was finally released from jail.

It was several hours after he awoke on the eightieth day that he heard several sets of foot steps marching down the hall towards his cell. He watched with wide-eyes as three officers, including the Lead Officer, and Germany came to stand before his cell. The Lead Officer unlocked his cell, opened the door, and announced with a tone of aggravation, "You have been cleared of all charges. You are free to go."

Stunned, shell-shocked really, Italy stood up from his cot and slowly exited the jail cell. Just one step out the small enclosure, and he felt as free as a bird. He smiled for the first time in a long while, and he stretched his arms out over his head—he couldn't help it—he felt like he had been cramped into a single box for the last seventy-nine days.

Germany offered him a brief smile, but kept up a professional appearance in front of the officers. The Lead Officer led Italy and Germany upstairs and out to the front of the building where a car was waiting. The Officers and Germany exchanged salutes as Italy wasted no time on climbing into the front seat of the car. Germany climbed into the driver's seat a moment later.

It was after they were several blocks away from Italy's former-prison that Germany finally spoke. "I'm so sorry I couldn't get you out sooner, Italy. My boss kept on delaying the process and sending me more and more work. I really don't know how I can make up for—" "Germany," Italy interrupted him with a flat tone, his eyes fixated firmly on the passing scenery outside the passenger side window. "I really don't feel like talking. Can we please be quiet for the rest of the drive?" He asked. Of course, Germany complied.

* * *

"Welcome back, Italy!" Everyone cheered as Italy entered Germany's living room. A second ago, Italy had come in and flipped on the light to the dark room while Germany put his coat up in the foyer. Italy flinched at the loud voices and watched and listened numbly as Prussia and Hungary explained that having a welcome back party was all Germany's idea. Germany, blushing appeared behind Italy a moment later and protested that was a lie.

The other Axis members where all there, even Japan, who had been off fighting back at his home for the last year or so. Everyone seemed happy. Bulgaria happily rolled out a cart from the kitchen full of food—all of Italy's favorites of course. Everyone hugged him. Everyone was happy to see him.

People started loading up plates of food once Bulgaria situated the food from the cart on the coffee table properly. Hungary happily put together a plate for Italy and brought it to him. "Here you go, Italy, and welcome back," Hungary said happily handing him the plate and a fork. Italy looked down at the food and then at Hungary.

A brief moment later, Italy made something very clear to everyone. He took his plate of food and said, "Thank you" to Hungary, right before fixing her with a venomous glare—like she was scum—turning on his heel, and marching out of the room. Everyone fell silent and froze.

A long moment of shocked silence passed, the only sounds being Italy stomping upstairs, slamming his bedroom door open and closed. No one knew what to say. But they all certainly knew something.

It was clear that Italy was very, _very_ upset.

* * *

Italy didn't come out of his room until later that evening, after the rest of the Axis had long left, and that was only so he could eat dinner. Austria prepared dinner that night instead of Hungary or Italy. No one thought it would be a good idea to bother Italy at the moment, and Hungary was up in her own room, crying her eyes out.

There was an awkward silence during dinner. Even after Italy left the table early, having devoured his dinner quickly, there was an awkward silence. No one knew what to say or do. Germany, Austria, and Prussia just sat there, not speaking a word.

* * *

The next day, Italy wanted to go take a walk, but he couldn't; he was stopped. A guard was posted at the front gates of the estate. Another one was posted at the back gate. And two more were hanging out in Germany's den, smoking, waiting to take over for the other guards when their shifts were over. Italy asked Austria about this, Germany being busy in his office, and Prussia unable to be found. He didn't even try to find Hungary.

"They showed up this morning along with that officer who arrested you—mine and Germany's boss is ordering that this place be guarded 24/7. Those guards will be staying with us from now on, Italy." Austria explained. "Why won't the guards let me out?" Italy asked. "They won't let out anyone without explicit orders from Germany to, and Germany has been ordered not to let you out of his sights. I'm sorry, Italy, but they don't know if they can trust you yet." Austria apologized. Italy raised an eyebrow at Austria then. "Whose 'they'? Germany? Does Germany not trust me?" Italy asked, eyes narrowing dangerously at the Austrian. Noticing this, Austria quickly shook his head. "No, no—I mean the government—our boss." He corrected his self. With that, Italy left the room without another word, leaving Austria with a racing heart.

* * *

Italy started noticing a lot of things as the days passed.

He noticed Prussia and Hungary coming out of each other's rooms a lot, being more friendly than usual to one another. He also noticed that they both avoided him like the plague. He wasn't surprised by that, however. He knew why they acted the way they did, after all, just like they knew exactly why he acted the way he did lately: recluse and resentful.

Italy also noticed that Austria seemed to play his piano more then usual, and his songs were slow and sad—it gave a depressing aura to the entire house. On the bright side—or maybe even worse—Italy didn't know how to feel about it—Germany tried to talk and spend time with Italy every chance he got it seemed. But Italy avoided Germany just as Prussia and Hungary avoided him. He couldn't bear to look at Germany, let alone speak to him.

Finally, to his great dismay, Italy noticed that despite not being in jail anymore, he was still not free. He was just in a bigger cage now. Everyday, Italy would see the guards and glare at them, just as he did every time he saw Hungary or Prussia. Once again, in his life, he was nothing more than an underling. How had he not seen it before, Italy wondered.

It was so clear now. No matter what happened or what anyone else said or thought, here, in the Axis, he was an underling. He was Germany's underling. If Germany won the war, than it wouldn't be long before their alliance was dissolved and Italy was invaded, too. He was too stupid, Italy realized sardonically just a few days after arriving at Germany's house. How had he honestly not seen that Germany was trying to build an empire? That he was nothing but a pawn of—if not just simply a nuisance to—the Third Reich?

Italy didn't want to be an underling again. He didn't want to be stuck again.

North Italy wanted out of the Axis.


	10. Chapter 10

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 10: A Letter to Big Brother

* * *

Italy sat at the messy desk in his bedroom, a piece of paper before him, and a pencil in hand. He stared down at the paper, wracking his brain for the right words—something his Fratello could understand without Italy plain out stating what he meant. Something clever and coded. Unfortunately, Italy had no talent for writing or being clever—well, he was kind of clever, he knew now. After all, he had tricked Austria and Hungary a hundred years ago, and he had them fooled for awhile, too, right up until he…

Italy halted that thought. He may have remembered what he did…but it was still painful. His stomach had hurt for the past several days, guilt wreaking havoc on his system. He deserved it, he thought. He had killed the person who loved him most in this world out of anger. He was couldn't stand being under his thumb anymore—emotionally, mentally, and physically—and he snapped. He snapped and killed him and so many others. Italy would never forgive his self for it…but he had to move on now.

He couldn't let those actions become meaningless. Holy Rome's death must not become meaningless. Italy couldn't become an underling again! He must escape the Axis, Italy just knew it; if only for Holy Rome. That was why Italy needed to write this letter to his elder brother, Romano—it was his first step towards freedom!

Filled with new vigor, Italy rattled his brain for words once again. Thankfully, something came to him.

_Dear Fratello,_

_I miss you and home terribly. Things are rough here now that you're gone—I feel like a prisoner here. I would love to eat pasta with you right about now, Fratello. I crave the taste and smell of your prized tomatoes. I know I didn't always like them, but now, more than ever, I would really, really like some. Hopefully, I can taste them real soon. _

It wasn't as subtle as Italy would have liked, but it was a start. Hopefully, Romano would get the fact that his 'prized tomatoes' was code for freedom from the Axis. Still, he needed to get his point across still.

_I was hoping that you could come back here. Maybe then we could be together. Please comeback, Fratello, so we can eat your prized tomatoes together. I promise you, Germany won't get in our way. I swear. _

Italy knew it was confusing, but he didn't know how else to word it. Hopefully, Romano would understand. Now, Italy just had to say one thing so Romano would know why he was doing all this now.

_P.S_

_Oh, and I remembered a lot of funny stuff lately, too, Fratello. _

_I remembered almost everything! I remember beating you up that one time when we were kids! I remember all those times we played with big brother Francis and Derrick when we were little. I also remembered that day; the day Derrick died. _

_Thank you for keeping your promise all these years, Fratello. _

Oh, and he almost forgot.

_P.P.S_

_Don't send a reply. Keep the bird. Treat him right._

Italy stopped and thought hard for a moment. Maybe he should add just one more thing…just in case.

_Treat him right, or else I'll beat you up again. _

_Lots and Lots of Love,_

_Feliciano Vargas,_

Italy looked down at the paper before him, filled with his delicate, girlish handwriting. It seemed alright—a little obvious but it was the best he could do. He felt a little bad about that last threat…but it was an empty one…kind of. He could only hope that Romano caught on to what he was trying to say. With a sigh and a silent prayer, Italy folded up the letter and slipped it into an envelope. He licked the rim and closed the envelope, tightly.

A moment later, he cracked open his bedroom door and scanned the hallway. No one in sight, and all the doors except for his were closed. He could here distantly people talking downstairs. He could tell that the voices belonged to two of the guards sent to 'protect' Germany's house, and the another voice belonged to Prussia, who was laughing rather loudly as usual. Italy also heard Austria's piano playing, and Hungary humming a song down in the foyer, her broom brushing against the hardwood floors as she cleaned. The only person unaccounted for was Germany. Hopefully, he was locked away in his office doing paperwork.

Quietly, Italy crept out into the hallway and towards Prussia's room. When he reached the albino's bedroom door, he did a double-check of his surroundings—the coast was clear: good. Then, ever so slowly, he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. Thankfully, the door didn't creak loudly, and with a sigh of relief, Italy entered Prussia's room and shut the door behind him.

He examined the clean, organized guest room and Italy couldn't help but admire the fact that the room reflected not one bit of Prussia's outer-personality. It was a quaint, neat bedroom befitting a stern veteran soldier, not a boisterous, somewhat narcissistic, former-wild-child. But Italy found his self smiling at that. This room proved that what was on the outside, what had happened in the past, didn't affect who you were really in the here and now on the inside. The same rules that applied to Prussia also applied to him, Italy thought.

Italy crept slowly towards the bird cage by the window overlooking the side yard of the estate. Inside, Gilbird sat, asleep in one corner of the cage. Around this time of day, Prussia always put Gilbird away to sleep while he went on with his usual Only-God-Knows-What-He-Does routine.

Slowly, Italy keeping a firm eye on the bird as he did, he opened the cage door and his hand reached to grab at the little yellow bird. If Gilbird awoke, he'd chirp his head off until someone—Prussia or Hungary—came to see what was up. But thankfully, Italy snatched the bird up with ease and when the bird awoke, Italy already had his fingers clapped down on his beak.

"Okay, Gilbird," Italy said softly to the bird, who stared blankly at him. "I need you to take this letter to my house in Florence, okay? I know you know the way, so take the letter there and I promise you, I'll give you a big bag of seeds, okay?" Italy bargained with Gilbird. Gilbird continued to stare at him blankly, but Italy knew he understood. Italy somehow just knew that Gilbird knew the way to his house, despite him having no clear memory of Gilbird ever being there or sent there. Italy just knew.

Italy still had gaps in his memory. He remembered everything up until Holy Rome perished at his hands, and after that, it was almost an entire centuries worth of foggy memories and complete blanks. Italy knew it was completely possible that Gilbird had been to his house in Florence before—he didn't just know it was possible, he _knew _he had been there.

Italy rolled up the enveloped that contained the letter and tied it to Gilbird's leg as tightly as he could without hurting the poor bird. Gilbird didn't seem to mind and even when Italy released his beak, he made no protests and he didn't struggle. Italy opened Prussia's bedroom window, said a prayer, thanked Gilbird, and released the bird. Gilbird flew off out of Italy's hands, to the south, towards Florence. Italy watched Gilbird for several minutes until finally the bird disappeared from view. Italy gave a sigh of relief; it felt as if a hug weight was off his shoulders.

When Italy closed the window and turned around to leave, he was stunned and all his stress returned with a vengeance. Prussia stood in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at him sadly. Italy froze and his jaw dropped—he was caught—he was going back to jail—he was going to die—something bad was going to happen, he just knew it! Trembling with fear, Italy stared at Prussia fearfully, both of **A**them silent, for several, long, tension-filled moments. Finally, Prussia approached Italy with slow, purposeful steps, grabbed his roughly by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

**A/N: Woah! Prussia kissed Italy! Gosh, you guys might be freaking out, right now! I will apologize now for any heart attacks suffered. **

**Oh, and if your wondering, the Derrick mentioned in Italy's letter is Holy Rome. Italy was using human names in his letter. After all, none of the humans know that the nations are people, too; it would be freaky if an ordinary human soldier intercepted the letter only to find it was written by the country Italy. **

**Any who, please review! **

**I want to see what you guys think will happen next! **

**Au Revoir, mon petite reviewers! Je T'aime! **


	11. Chapter 11

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 11: Betrayal, Part 1

* * *

Italy was stunned—if he was shocked before, now his brain was absolutely fried! Prussia kissed him—Prussia was still kissing him! What _f*ck_ was going on? Italy went limp against Prussia's body as the albino pressed his lips against Italy's. Italy didn't know how to react. Push him away? That seemed like the mist favorable option. Go along with it so he might not be turned into the police for treason? That thought made Italy feel sick.

But Italy didn't think long, however, because as his mind was racing, Prussia punched him in the cut, detaching his lips from the stunned Italy's, putting the Italian in a headlock. As gently as he could, Prussia choked the Italian in his grip. Italy struggled for several minutes in Prussia's strong hold, but eventually, he fell unconscious from the lack of oxygen.

Now limp and out cold in Prussia's arms, Prussia gave a sigh. But acting quickly, he checked if the coast was clear outside, and when he was sure no one was watching, he dragged Italy's body out into the hallway, into his room, and tucked him in bed. Prussia exited Italy's room quickly and quietly, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Italy awoke several hours later, his neck sore, to Hungary calling outside his door that dinner was ready. Dazedly, Italy climbed out of bed, wondered how he had gotten into bed. The last thing he remembered was writing that letter to Romano and…sending it using Gilbird…Italy paused right in front of his bedroom door, his mouth agape. Prussia had caught him and knocked him out. Oh God, Italy froze up in horror. He had probably reported him to the guards! Italy felt a chill go down his spine at the thought of being dragged back to prison. No, no—he couldn't go back there!

"Italy? Italy, are you alright?" Hungary called on the other side of the door. Italy was about to call back that he was fine when a realization hit him: it was trap. The second he left his room, they would ambush him, cuff him, and haul him off to jail! Italy stepped away from the door, glaring. Hell no, he wasn't falling for that. He'd barricade his self in his room, he decided rashly, already looking around for something to block the door. But before he could settle on whether to use the desk of the bookshelf, another realization hit Italy. No matter what he did, if they knew what he was up to, they were going to get him. Even he did barricade his self in here, he'd have to come out eventually or they'd just break in somehow. Italy felt his heart drop into his left foot as he realized that he had to go out there.

Hesitantly, Italy opened his bedroom door, revealing Hungary standing in the hall—not a small army of soldiers ready to arrest him. They were probably down stairs, Italy thought as he followed Hungary downstairs. To Italy's surprise, they were in the foyer either or in the hall waiting to burst out of a closet as Italy passed. No, Italy followed Hungary into the dinning room, where everyone was already eating, peacefully. No one looked up as they entered the room, or as Hungary took her seat between Austria and Prussia, and Italy took his seat between Prussia and Germany.

Dinner was steak and potatoes, as Hungary had cooked that night in Italy's absence. The chatter was idle and normal, Italy noticed. Nothing unusual. Prussia hadn't reported him. Still…something irked Italy. He was forgetting something. That feeling of forgetfulness became even worse when he looked at Prussia. What had happened after Prussia had caught him, Italy wondered.

The answer finally came when one of the guards was telling a story half way through the meal. "My next door neighbor was such a pretty girl. As a boy, I used to pull on her pig-tails a lot, however, so she always hated me. But then, one day, my family hosted Christmas party, and she was there. She was so pretty. So I waited under the mistletoe all night and when she passed me, I yanked her underneath it with me and planted a kiss on her. She punched me and broke my nose. So that's the story of why my nose looks so odd." While the others nervously laughed at the story, Italy froze where he sat, staring at Prussia beside him with wide, surprised, angry eyes. Kiss…Prussia had…Prussia had kissed him, Italy remembered. He remembered Prussia's unusually cold lips on his, the faint taste of beer, and how Prussia had taken advantage of his stunned state and knocked him out. He didn't care why he did it; Italy was simply pissed off! Prussia had kissed him without his consent! For some reason, that enraged Italy—he felt as if Prussia kissing him was the wrongest thing in the world. Something in Italy's stomach started bubbling up and his cheeks reddened. Suddenly, before he could stop his self, Italy stood from his seat, took up his plate of half-eaten food, and dumped it on Prussia's head. Everyone froze in shock.

* * *

Germany rushed to push both Italy and Prussia into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. The fuming blond glared at his brother and friend, though neither seemed to care. Prussia seemed too stunned, and Italy was busy glaring venomously at Prussia. "What the Hell was that all about!?" Germany demanded. Both Prussia and Italy were silent, though Italy continued to glare at Prussia. "Italy, why did you do that?" Germany asked through gritted teeth. Italy met Germany's eyes briefly with reluctance and then averted eye contact completely. Germany took Italy by the shoulders and barked out one simple order, "Answer me!" He did not like his reply.

Italy glared at Prussia and then, with his eyes on the floor, he spat, "He kissed me." Germany froze. He looked at Prussia frantically, hoping what Italy said was not true, but Prussia looked guilty as sin. After several awkward, tension filled moments, Prussia sighed and began, "West, I can explain. I—" Before he could finish, however, Germany decked him. "How dare you!" Germany spat, glaring at his elder brother. Both Prussia and Italy were surprised by this behavior.

"Get out, Italy!" Germany ordered, and with a tremble, Italy quickly obeyed. When Italy was gone, Germany once again punched Prussia in the face. "Ow! West, come on! I kissed him, yes, but I didn't mean it like—" Germany punched him again, sending Prussia to the floor. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say, brother! You filthy back stabber! You know I…That I love Italy…as more than a friend…and then you go off and kiss him! You bastard! I'll never speak to you again!" Germany growled. Prussia remained emotionless under his younger brother's glare; his face passive and stone-cold. Germany growled again through gritted teeth, but said nothing. Germany stomped out of the room after that, leaving Prussia with a bloody mouth and broken heart. If only Germany knew that Prussia was only trying to protect Italy.

* * *

Italy rushed to his bedroom and locked the door, his breathing labored. He cursed himself. Why did he have to dump his pasta on Prussia? Why did he have to tell Germany? Italy layed down on his bed and closed his eyes. It didn't matter, he tried to convince his self. Soon, he would be gone anyways. Romano would get his letter, and hopefully decipher his riddles. For now, Italy had to concentrate on his plan…and Prussia.

Prussia hadn't reported him and no one questioned Gilbird's absence yet. Was Prussia really covering for him? Italy didn't know, but he knew it was only common sense that he sleep with one eye open for the rest of his time at Germany's house. For all he knew, he could be arrested for treason tomorrow.

Still, something bothered Italy. The kiss. Prussia's kiss. Why did he feel like he was betraying someone important to him when Prussia kissed him?...Why did he feel like he was betraying _two _important someones when Prussia kissed him? Why was Italy suddenly remembering a woman with long, dark waves of hair and dark eyes? Who was she…and what did she have to do with him and Prussia?

* * *

A/N: So, any ideas of whom the woman that Italy is remembering is?

Come on! Anybody who read "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's memories should know this one!

Oh, and Germany loving Italy?! O.O DRAMA!


	12. Chapter 12

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 12: Betrayal, Part 2

* * *

"Oh shut up, you stupid bird!" Romano shouted at the chirping yellow bird in the cage that sat on his desk. Ever since the damned creature arrived in Florence three days ago, it hadn't shut up. It ticked Romano off—great, as if he wasn't stressed enough by Veneziano's letter. The letter had been clear: Veneziano wanted him to come and rescue him—an idiot could see that. No wonder, either, it was written by one after all.

Romano had to admit, however, that he was always amazed when Veneziano pulled crap like this. Clever little tricks and cunning traps and deceptions; so un-Veneziano -like. Romano scoffed under his breath at that as he did his paperwork. Only those who did not truly know Veneziano would think that—Romano knew what his brother was really like. Feliciano Vargas aka Veneziano Italy: determined, clever, and, at times, frighteningly temperamental. Just like grandpa, Romano thought sardonically.

Romano was both happy and disappointed that his brother was finally back to his old self, his true self. Romano knew that when he was younger, Veneziano had been quiet, but strong, and brave. He always imagined that if he hadn't lost his memories, his brother might actually have became a respectable nation all on his own. For that reason, Romano was glad that his brother lost his memories. Romano already felt like garbage compared to his cowardly, 'weak' little brother; he couldn't imagine how bad he'd feel if Italy had lived up to his full potential.

It didn't matter now, though, Romano thought as he stood up from his desk and left his office, grabbing his favorite black trench coat and slipping it on as he did. In Romano's opinion, it made him look like some sort of mafia-badass. Romano ordered his men to pull his car around while he prepared some supplies.

Romano exited his and his brother's Florence home, his car waiting for him out front. Romano a threw his duffle bag of supplies in the back seat of the car. His men, who waited for him out front, saluted him as he started the car, and Romano returned the gesture. "I'll be back in a week's time. Contact the Allies and alert them that my brother and I request a meeting with them. When I return…Italy will officially go to war with the Germany." Romano announced. With that, he drove off, leaving his men stunned.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Sorry for the short chapter. It was originally longer, but I edited because I didn't want to give awat any juicy details until later. **

**Hope you like it!**


	13. Chapter 13

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 13: Betrayal, Part 3—The Pact of Steel Broken

* * *

_Knock! Knock!_

Germany sat down his pen and let out a sigh. He was both irritated and thankful for the interruption. For the last hour, his hand had been cramping and he was bored to death by his tedious paperwork, but he also prayed that it was not Hungary trying to talk him into reconciling with his brother, yet again. Ever since their argument days before, the brothers had not spoken, nor had either one of them spoken to Italy. Hungary and Austria, along with a few of the guards, were distressed by this. Austria had tried a few times to talk to Germany about it, but after his third try, he gave up. Hungary, however, was persistent, and she had been an annoyance for the last couple of days.

Slowly, Germany stood up from his chair for the first time in hours, strode across the room, and opened the door. He was half-startled to see Italy standing on the other side of the door. "Italy? Vhat are you—I mean, vhat business do you have? I am very busy." Germany asked gruffly. He didn't what to sound too desperate or happy or even surprised that Italy had come to see him for whatever reason. Still, it was hard.

Italy offered Germany a smile, thus warming Germany's heart and nearly bringing a smile to the German's lips as well. "I wanted to ask you if you would like to go on a walk with me. The guards won't let me off the property unless you're with me, and I'd really like to talk to you, Germany!" Italy said cheerily. Germany was stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered and replied, "Yes. That would be nice. I'll come find you as soon as my work is done." With a few other pleasantries exchanged, Germany shut the door and finally let a smile spread over his features. Italy finally seemed to be back to his old self.

* * *

When his work was done, Germany found Italy in the kitchen, preparing a lunchbox of some kind it seemed. Italy was just shutting the lid of an old lunchbox when Germany entered the room. "I didn't know we were going out on a picnic," Germany noted. Italy turned towards him in surprise, but upon seeing it was Germany, he seemed to relax…but only slightly. "Oh, well, it's just in case we get hungry. I made rice-balls like the ones Japan taught me how to make!" Italy exclaimed in response. Germany nodded, and without another word, they exited and kitchen, and then the house itself.

Outside, however, Germany noticed something strange. "Where is the guard?" He asked allowed, seeing no guard by the main gate or anywhere in the front yard. Italy looked around rather calmly, and suggested, "Maybe he needed to the lavatory." Reluctantly, Germany accepted that response. Germany and Italy left the estate property and trekked up the road.

Miles up the road, just outside a small town very much like the one near the estate, they came to a grassy field. Germany immediately recognized their location. "This is the clearing that you used to run off to when you ran away from training. Why are we here?" Germany asked. Italy smiled in response and sat down on a small boulder in the field. "Do you remember our promise, Germany? The Pact of Steel?" Italy asked. Germany nodded, however, he was still confused. "Why do you ask?" He asked warily. Italy smiled and responded, "I want to thank you for that, Germany. Thank you for being my friend these last few years."

Germany immediately tensed up. Something was wrong, he realized suddenly, though he didn't know what. "Why are you thanking me, Italy?" Germany asked gravely . Italy's smile fell and an overwhelming sadness overtook his golden eyes for the briefest moment. "I'm sorry," He whispered. Then, just as suddenly, Italy's smile returned. "I'm sorry for acting weird lately—I just wanted to apologize for all that's happened lately." Italy chirped happily. He then picked up his lunch box and unlocked it. "I even packed us a lunch!" He exclaimed. Germany sighed in relief. He got worked up over nothing.

"Oh!" Italy gasped in realization. "Germany, can you please close your eyes real quick? I have a surprise for you!" Italy asked happily. Hesitantly, Germany closed his eyes, his last sight being of Italy smiling and rummaging around in the lunchbox for something. He heard the lunchbox click closed a moment later, and Italy approaching him slowly, dry grass crunching under his feet. Finally, he heard Italy stop a few front of him. Germany waited patiently for Italy to instruct him to open his eyes.

Several minutes passed before Italy spoke, however, and when he did…what he said were not instructions to open his eyes, and the sound that followed made Germany's heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry, Germany."

_Click!_

Germany's eyes snapped open at the sound of the safety of a gun clicking back. To Germany's horror, Italy stood before him, a revolver aimed at his forehead. "Italy, I—" Germany never finished his sentence. Italy fired and Germany dropped, blooding pouring out of his forehead. Italy collapsed to his knees and cried.

* * *

Several hours later, when the sun was setting, a car pulled into the clearing. Italy was lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky blankly. He only offered the car a brief sideways glance as it pulled to a stop.

"Hey! Hurry up!" Romano shouted, honking the car horn a few times. Heaving a sigh, Italy got up from the ground and brushed off the dirt on his clothes. A few feet away from him lay Germany, still unconscious. The wound to his forehead was half-healed, and the blood of his face and clothes was dry. Italy couldn't bear to look at him.

Italy hurriedly approached and climbed into the car. Romano started driving the second he closed the passenger side door. "Once we cross the boarder, we'll ditch the car and go by foot." Romano informed him as they sped down the dirt road. Italy numbly nodded his head, his eyes firmly on the road ahead. He dare not turn and look back.

* * *

When neither Germany nor Italy had returned by nightfall, everyone went out searching for them. Not just them, however, but also for one of the guards, who had been missing for even longer than Germany and Italy. They split up into groups. Austria teamed up with two of the guards while Prussia, Hungary, and the remaining guard formed a team of their own. Austria's team went into town, down one end of the road, while Prussia and Hungary's team journeyed down the other end.

Prussia, Hungary, and the guard walked for ages, calling Germany and Italy's human names, but never did they receive a reply. In the darkness, the saw nothing, and they feared constantly that they had passed them as they lay in a ditch or worse. Prussia called the loudest out of all of them. Not only because of his naturally loud, obnoxious voice, but because his little brother was missing and the last one to be with him was Italy. Prussia and Hungary both knew that wasn't a good sign, but they still held out hope.

They finally approached a small town, and thankfully, many of the residents seemed to be staying up late, so they left their lights on. The light pouring out of their windows provided lighting for the outside as well, allowing the search party to see better. This great advantage provided a terrible con: they found Germany.

In a field, just outside of the town, they found him. Germany lay in the field, dried blood covering his forehead and splattered on his clothes. Thankfully, whatever wound that had caused all the blood loss was healed; meaning firstly that they would not have to worry about the guard thinking Germany was dead, and second, that he was going to be okay. Still, Hungary broke down and tears and cradled his unconscious form in her lap as she wept. She need not look around for Italy. She knew he was long gone.

Prussia found a gun and a lunchbox not too far away from Germany's body. He took one look at it and knew that the gun was the same kind the guards back at the estate carried with him. Prussia knew now that the missing guard's disappearance was no coincidence.

Prussia remained deathly calm as he, Hungary, and the guard carried Germany home. He was perfectly silent, his eyes staring straight ahead, his lips in a grim line. Hungary cried softly, both for Germany and Italy. The guard awkwardly kept his mouth shut and his head down. He didn't know what was going on; he didn't want to. Tomorrow, he decided, feeling the tension in the air, he was going to request a transfer.

Hungary cleaned Germany up and put him to bed, praying he'd awaken soon. He may not have been dead, but Hungary knew well that he could have a concussion, or worse, be in a coma. When she was done, she joined Austria and Prussia in the den to discuss what had happened. The guards were still out looking for the missing guard.

Austria was the first to speak. "Italy is long gone by now. However, I suggest we take action now and alert the Fuehrer. Then, we can prepare an invasion to retrieve Italy." The anxious silence followed. "I'd like to leave the Fuehrer out of this until we have the full story. We should wait until Germany wakes up and we find the missing guard." Hungary interjected after a moment. Austria seemed pensive for a moment, but then he nodded. "We must also find his means of escape. He must have had an accomplice of some kind." Austria pointed out. Prussia suddenly stood up, drawing the others' attention.

"A few days ago, Italy sent a letter using Gilbird." Prussia confessed. Austria and Hungary were stunned. "You…you told me that you sent Gilbird to deliver a letter to Bavaria in the north." Hungary stammered in shock. How could Prussia lie to her about something so vital?! She stood up in outrage, tears forming in her eyes. "How could you?! I trusted you! Now look at what has happened, Prussia! W-Why would do that?" She cried. Prussia looked down in shame and replied, "I was trying to protect Italy." Then, just as quickly as it had flooded into her being, all of Hungary's anger disappeared and she collapsed into Prussia. Prussia caught her and pulled her into a tight embrace, rubbing comforting circles in her back, murmuring apologies in her ear.

Austria left the room then without a word, leaving the two alone. In the hallway, he was met by one of the guards, his breathing labored. The guard quickly saluted Austria, and no sooner had Austria returned the salute, the guard reported, "We have found Private Pittman!" Austria hesitantly asked in reply, "Alive or…?" He couldn't bear the thought of Italy killing someone. He knew good and well that Italy had before…he just didn't like thinking about it. In Austria's eyes, Italy would always been that little maid who liked listening to him play piano. Thankfully, the guard replied, "Alive. He was found barely conscious in some bushes on the estate. He's fuzzy on the details, but he says that Captain Vargas came to him earlier today with some food. All he remembers after that is getting really tired and blacking out." So that's how he did it, Austria thought. He thanked the guard and sent him on his way.

He then made his way up to his bedroom on the second floor of the house. No one saw Austria for the rest of the night, and when Hungary went to check on him the next morning, he was gone. All he left behind was a short note.

_I have gone after Italy._

_I will bring him back and prove to you once _

_and for all that I am not just some aristocrat._

Later that day, Prussia set out to stop him.

* * *

**A/N: O.O things are getting intense, and we're only half way through the story, too. **

**Anyways...I AM SOOOOOOO SORRY! I HAVE HAD SOME WIFI PROBLEMS AND FROM NOW ON, UPDATES WILL BE KIND OF SLOW, BUT I PROMISE THAT I WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY! AS AN APOLOGY, YOU GET A BONUS CHAPTER!**

**AGAIN, SORRY!**


	14. Chapter 14

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 14: Italy the Traitor

* * *

It only took three days for Romano and Veneziano to arrive in Florence, and when they did, they were met by some rather important guests. "Italy! Romano! It's good to see you guys on our side!" America cheered, pulling both brothers into a "welcome to the team" hug as they entered Romano's office. Romano struggled in America's super strength grip to no avail, while Veneziano returned the hug happily. In times like these, it was nice to get a hug, no matter who it was from or how bone crushing it was. "America, put the Italy brothers down. We need to get down to business." England drawled from where he lounged on a couch on the other side of the office. Giving a brief whine, America released them and joined England on the couch.

Romano, now in a bad mood, stomped over to his desk and sat down in his nice leather office chair. Veneziano wordlessly sat down on his brother's desk, as there was no where else to sit. "Your bosses signed the armistice a few days ago, so our alliance is official." England said aloud first to clear the air. "However, there are a few things that need to be taken care of before we can proceed. First off, you must declare war on Germany." England continued. Veneziano tensed up, but said nothing. You knew this would happen, he told his self, don't wimp out now, you coward. You didn't do all that for nothing, he thought determinedly. Still, his grip on the edge of the desk went white-knuckled. "Done," Romano replied simply. America happily smiled at that, while England nodded his head, all business on the matter.

"We also want that boss of yours, Mussolini, out of the way." America added nonchalantly. "We don't care what you do with him; we just don't want him as your boss anymore. Can ya do something about that?" He asked. Romano nodded his head. "He'll be stepping down within the next few days." He confirmed. America and England seemed pleased by this. "Good then," England said with a smile. "Seems like we can proceed now safely. We'll send troops to all your major cities and set up bases in the south. You two should prepare as well. The Axis will most likely be mobilizing soon. Welcome to the Allies, Veneziano." After that, America gave them goodbye noogies and pats on the backs, which were kind of rough, but good-natured, and England shook their hands with a smile, saying he was happy that they were allies rather than enemies. They left rather quickly then, leaving Veneziano and Romano alone.

The second their blond guests left, Veneziano sensed the tension in the room finally. He looked at his brother worriedly, and to his displeasure, Veneziano saw Romano looking rather ashamed. "Romano…Are you alright? You're happy being part of the Allies now, right?" Veneziano asked worriedly. Romano nodded his head. "Then what's wrong?" Veneziano asked. Romano stood up from his seat and pulled open one of his desk drawers. Then, he pulled out a gun and placed it on the desk before Veneziano. Veneziano looked at his brother and the gun in shock. "What…W-What's that for, Fratello?" Veneziano asked nervously. Romano gulped and let out a deep breath, and replied with a serious tone, "Assassinating Mussolini."

* * *

Veneziano slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it. Not a moment later, Romano was banging on the door, shouting for him to come out. Veneziano ignored his brothers pleas and instead crawled into his bed where he cried into his pillow. "Why do I always have to deal with sort of crap?" Veneziano asked his self. Of course, he received no reply accept from the peeps Gilbird emitted from his cage. Romano had decided that if anyone was going to deal with the little feathered pest, it would be Veneziano. Eventually, Veneziano managed to fall asleep, though his slumber was restless.

* * *

Eventually, Romano gave up on getting his little brother to come out of his room. Instead, he angrily stomped back upstairs to his office, which was right next to Veneziano's—though his brother never used his…ever—where once inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it. He fell into his office chair and slumped miserably in emotional exhaustion.

Romano never felt more tired in his life, and it was all because of his little brother. For years, Romano wondered why he had been cursed with an idiot brother who was better than him at everything. Now, he wished he had that old brother back. Romano cursed whatever brought back Veneziano's memories. If Veneziano had just stayed a naïve moron, none of this would have happened, Romano thought resentfully. Romano wondered briefly, however, very sardonically, why his brother couldn't have remembered his past in a more peaceful time, like, he didn't know, that one time Germany was really pissing him off and it would have been awesome to have a little brother with a ma8stery in archery and swordsmanship.

But that just wasn't Veneziano's style, amnesiac or not. His brother was a troublemaker, always stirring up drama when it came to war, Romano thought as he lit a cigar. Romano wondered, however, what his brother would have turned out like if he had never lost his memories. Probably a lot like his big brother, Romano thought ruefully. He felt a twinge of jealousy for his brother, as would most nations if they knew that Veneziano had forgotten most of his painful past. Every nation wants to forget something and act like it never happened, even Romano.

Romano lazily opened up a file on his desk and began reading. It was a status report on what actions the nation of Italy will be taking in the following weeks. First off, they would declare war on the remaining members of the Axis—Romano felt an odd sense of evil happiness at that—and then Mussolini would step down from office. Shortly after, he would be assassinated. Romano felt annoyance at the fact he would most likely be sent to do the dirty work—his work most likely then going to the credit of some random human—instead of his brother. God, he felt irritated just thinking about it.

Romano didn't get it. Back in the day, his little brother wouldn't have hesitated—at least not very much—to take down someone like Mussolini. Hell, back during the Renaissance days, when they were kids, Veneziano was known for his assassins. Veneziano may not have been a cruel, or even a very composed person, but back when he was his true self, he had understood his duty as a nation. Rome had taught them that and as Rome's protégé, Veneziano should have simply nodded his head and followed Romano's orders without fail. Veneziano had only displayed such insolence and hesitation was when he was…Suddenly, something occurred to Romano, and in his shock, his cigar nearly fell out of his mouth.

Veneziano hadn't remembered everything.

* * *

Veneziano awoke several times during the night, each time forcing his self to sleep a few more hours. Finally, his stomach started growling and Veneziano decided to sneak down to the kitchen for a snack. Carefully, he tiptoed out into the hallway, the old, polished wood floors creaking under his weight. Veneziano crept down three flights of stairs down to the basement of the small manor, where the kitchens were located, along with the laundry room, a large storage room, and the boiler room.

Veneziano flicked on the lights to the kitchen, illuminating the room and revealing a surprise. On the main kitchen island sat a single plate and a note. Veneziano warily approached the plate to find it was a long cold dish of pasta, and the note was addressed to him, from Romano.

_Veneziano,_

_We're at war, idiota. You need to eat. I made you some pasta, so eat up. Don't eat it cold, though, you moron. Heat it up in the stove. _

_P.S—I left something for you in my office. _

_Love, _

_Romano_

Veneziano angrily wadded up the note and threw it into the garbage. Why should he care about some stupid pictures! All they were was painful reminders! Veneziano prepped the oven and set the plate inside to allow it to heat up. When his food was warm, Veneziano carried the plate back up to his room, angrily stabbing at the pasta noodles as he ate along the way.

Reclining against the headboard of his bed, Veneziano ate his late dinner, all the while brooding. Why did everyone have to treat him like nothing more than an underling? He wondered. If he wasn't acting like a damn servant—like at Austria's house—he was being used to carry out their dirty work—like Romano had just tried—Veneziano was just done. He was done with being an underling. He didn't care how many plates of pasta his brother made him—if he wanted Mussolini dead, he could do it his self. It would be easy; Romano had always hated Mussolini, Italy thought bitterly.

When he was finished with his food, Veneziano left his room once again to take the now dirty plate back down the kitchen. However, when he came to the stairs, he faltered. Veneziano looked at the two sets of stairs before him: one leading downstairs, the other upstairs. Romano's office was just upstairs, unlocked. Veneziano shook his head. He wouldn't fall for it. Whatever pictures Romano had left in his office was probably just going to convince him to kill Mussolini.

Still, Veneziano faltered as he took his first step down stairs. Anxiety over took him. What if the thing that Romano left for him wasn't just a ploy, he wondered. What if it was a missing piece of my past, he asked his self. What if it was the final jog his memory needed to finally remember those last hundred years, Veneziano thought. Those questions and more spun around in his head, making him so dizzy, he had to grip the railing for support and sit down of the steps. When his head was clearer, he stood up, turned around, and headed upstairs.

Romano's office was unlocked, just as he said it would be. Veneziano entered the room quietly and shut the door softly behind him, locking it as well. His eyes warily scanned the room, only to find a single book on Romano's desk. Veneziano approached the desk with care, his heart beating a little faster with each step, a million questions racing through his head in a blur. His hands were shaking, and he felt the urge to run away, but he persevered. Veneziano finally came to stand before the desk, his hands just inches away from the book.

_Memories of War _the cover read.

Veneziano wondered what the book had to do with his past; why Romano had left it for him to read…he knew there was only one way to find out. Veneziano cautiously opened the book to its first page. What he found was interesting.

_Find peace in your memories._

—_Feliciano Vargas,; V__eneziano Italy _

It was written his own handwriting, Veneziano knew immediately. However, he had no memory of ever writing it. The inscription confused him, as well. Why would he write something like that in a book? Curiously, he turned the page and to see if his questions would be answered. On the pages before, several photos were neatly pasted, one or two to a page, writing on or underneath each one, describing the event in the picture. One thing all the photos had in common was Italy was in them.

The first photo took up a whole page due to its size; it was taken long ago, most likely back in the mid-nineteenth century. In the photograph, Veneziano stood in full uniform—the uniform of a loyal Austrian soldier—with a goofy smile on his face. He was probably no more than fifteen in appearance. Italy looked happy in the photo; like a care-free child. Even though he couldn't remember even taking the picture, Italy found his self smiling at the black and white photograph.

The next few pages held similar photographs, all a tad different. Uniforms changed, Veneziano aged little by little, and some contained Austria and Hungary, both in uniform, as well. As he flipped through the photo album, the current-Veneziano's smile grew and his heart warmed. Even though he couldn't remember any details, Veneziano knew that it had been a simply, happy time back then when each of the photos was taken. It was as if he was remembering his feelings from that time, rather than the actual events, and he was okay with that.

But then, slowly, half-way through the album, Veneziano noticed a change in his self in the photographs, which confused him. In the photographs, he noticed that his smiles became more and more fake looking, forced. When he stood along side Austria and Hungary, he looked uncomfortable and out of place, like a weed in the garden. He looked sad. Veneziano's eyebrows drew together and his smile fell more and more with each flip of the pages. Finally, he came to a picture that made his heart break a little. In the photograph, Veneziano, in his late teens, stood between Austria and Hungary, as he had in many other photos. This time, however, his past-self frowned and his eyes were empty; he was a shell of his old self.

Veneziano just knew in that moment, staring down on that photo, that this wasn't the first time he regained his memories.

* * *

**A/N: OH, My Readers! You break my heart with your cries and pleas! Do not fret, for I have updated! Enjoy! Celebrate! See you again, hopefully soon!**


	15. Chapter 15

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 15: Breakdown

* * *

"Captain Vargas, your brother hasn't left his room in days except to eat and use the lavatory. Are you sure we should not do something?" Private Giovanni asked his superior worriedly. Romano simply shook his head as he lit up his cigar, taking a brief hiatus from his paperwork, which had doubled in size since his brother barricaded his self in his room. "He's done this before. Trust me, he'll snap out of it soon, and when the time comes," Romano blew some smoke into the air, unusually calm and relaxed thanks to the nicotine. "When the time comes, he'll come out and we can put our plans into action." He finished, leaving Private Giovanni wary.

* * *

Veneziano laid under the heavy blankets of his bed, bare as the day he was born, crying silently into his pillow. He didn't make a sound as the tears slipped down his cheeks-he had sobbed so hard earliar that his throat felt raw-staining the feather pillow, but if you looked into his golden eyes, you could see his inner turmoil. On the outside, he was a mess—a literal mess; he seriously needed to take a shower—on the inside he was, to put it lightly, as crushed as that vase he had thrown against the wall all those years ago in anger when Napoleon had backstabbed him. Only Veneziano was sure that no glue could fix him like that vase, which still sat in his home in Venice.

Not only had he been missing an entire century from his memory, he thought woefully, but this wasn't the first time he had regained his memories. Veneziano knew, considering the actions he had just taken recently, that the last time he regained his memories it hadn't gone down well most likely. He knew just by the look he had in that photo that at some point, he had regained his memories and the following photos indicated that he was pissed about it.

When Veneziano flipped through the rest of album anxiously after making his discovery, what he found only added to his distress. With every turn of the page, with every year that passed in the photos, Veneziano seemed to grow more and more furious. His gazes at the camera were practically glares, his smiles turned into frowns, and when he stood between Austria and Hungary, even they looked as if they were uncomfortable and anxious around Veneziano. And why wouldn't they? They had, after all, lied to him for nearly a century, only for him to remember everything and slowly grow to hate them as the years passed.

The photos had disgusted the current Veneziano.

But what pained him the most—the photo that plagued his heart and mind every minute, of every hour, of every day since he looked at the album—was the fact that near the end of album, Veneziano found something peculiar.

Slipped in-between the pages, Veneziano found a single photograph and a note. Both were not pasted on the pages, rather just slipped between them. Veneziano easily came to conclusion Romano must have slipped them inside when he had left the book for him. Veneziano knew they must have had some significance then.

The black and white, grainy photograph was of three young men; young men Veneziano recognized immediately. Like all the other photographs, Veneziano was featured in the photo, but this time, instead of Austria and Hungary, his brother and Prussia stood along side him.

He had been almost relieved when he noticed that his past-self seemed more at peace in this photo than the others. But the writing on the aged note had made his gut twist and tears spring forth from his eyes.

_Dear future me,_

_It's me, past you! I'm writing this message in commemoration of the first photo ever taken of us during our independence—if we win it, of course. But even if we lose this war against Austria, this photo will always represent are struggle for freedom, showing that we aren't as weak as we appear. Maybe someday, others will realize that._

_Romano and Prussia, despite their frowns, are very happy in this picture, and so am I. This photo was taken, as you may remember, right after we received our new uniforms for the war. Romano really liked his uniform! He actually smiled; remember that? If not…I guess you forgot everything again. _

_Good Luck, _

_Veneziano Italy _

The letter had been all the proof Veneziano needed to be sure that by the time that photo had been taken, he had gained his memories back about killing Holy Rome. But Veneziano wondered; how did he regain them? The answer lay within his memories of that time that had unfortunately not returned yet.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to remember anymore. Every time he gained a new memory, it seemed as if yet another part of Veneziano's world was crumbling around him. What if the memories he had lost of the Risorgimento were even worse than the ones he had of the Napoleonic Wars? The very thought made Veneziano feel like vomiting.

Veneziano agonized for days over his newest revelation. He troubled himself over it so much, he felt literally sick of this memory dilemma he was facing. He began to wonder if any of what he was doing was worth it. He wondered if he made the right choices. Had he overreacted? Should he have forgiven them for their lies and brushed it all under the rug like they had done for centuries? Was facing his past really worth giving up everything—Veneziano mentally slapped his self across the face.

Angry tears sprang to his eyes. Veneziano chastised his self mentally for forgetting what all this was about: protecting his country, not letting what he fought so hard for go to waste, even if he didn't remember it. Making sure that Italy didn't become just another conquest again. No more, Veneziano thought. No more being an underling. No more lies. This isn't just about my memories, Veneziano reminded his self.

He sat up in bed and threw aside the blankets. "I didn't do all this for nothing…" He mumbled under his breath as he climbed out of bed. Veneziano threw on some pants and a shirt before leaving his bedroom, the sound of his door slamming shut announcing that fact. Immediately, a few maids peaked around corners and out doorways out of curiosity. Upon seeing him, one asked if he was alright, to which Veneziano replied, "Yes, thanks you. Could you please fetch me the swords that hang over the fireplace mantle? I'll be in my brother's office."

The maid scurried off to do so, although rather worriedly, while Veneziano stomped upstairs to his brother's office. Romano jerked up in shock when his little brother barged in, the door slamming into the wall loudly, nearly causing a picture to fall off the same wall. "What the Hell, idiota? Didn't that f*cking aristocrat teach how to knock?" Romano shouted in outrage. Veneziano remained silent. Romano sighed heavily. "Speak, idiota. I don't have time for your crap!" Romano whined, annoyed. Veneziano remained silent until the maid timidly entered the room with the two swords. Veneziano thankfully took one of the swords from her grasp and then had her place the other on Romano's desk. The maid then fled the room as quickly as possible.

Romano stared down at the sword confusedly for a moment before asking warily, "What is this for?" Veneziano's reply was simple and accompanied with a twinkle in Italy's eyes and a smile on his face. "We're going to train, Fratello. I've decided that…" Veneziano gulped. "Even though I don't have all my memories…I won't give up or throw a tantrum. I will work hard and win this war, with or without memories!" Veneziano informed Romano determinedly. For the first time in a long while, Romano saw, Veneziano's eyes were aglow with their former vigor and glory.

Veneziano held out a hand to Romano. "Well, Fratello, are you ready to get your ass kicked?" With a wary, crooked grin, Romano replied, "We'll see who kicks whose ass, idiota!" Romano didn't like the little smirk that appeared on Veneziano's face.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Hey, did any of you get the vase reference? If you did, good for you, you paid attention to the last story! If not, it's okay, it's really not all that important!**

**Just wondering…is Italy getting too OOC...? **

**Also, at this point, Romano has or will soon "take care of" Mussolini…yeah...**

**Enjoy the update, readers! ;D**


	16. Chapter 16

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 16: Mobilizing for War

* * *

He arrived at the Italian boarder in the middle of the night. At first the guards had raised their weapons at him, ready to shoot at any moment, but after showing his identification, he was led to the tent of one of generals. "It is an honor to meet you, Edelstein." The General greeted as Austria entered the tent. The General and Austria shook hands as Austria replied, "It is very nice to meet you as well, General. I am guessing you have heard of me." The General nodded with something akin to a smile. "Yes, I have heard stories of your close ties with the Fuhrer and your notoriety in the Austrian political world. I also hear you have cousins in Germany; the Beilschmidt Brothers, correct?" The General asked. Austria hesitantly nodded. They were actually his elder and younger brothers, however, since they had been given different human surnames, they had long posed as cousins.

However, Austria did not come to discuss his family, he came to do something. "General," Austria addressed, getting down to business. "I have come here to warn you personally of a threat." He informed. The General's eyes narrowed and he asked that Austria sit down and explain. When they were both seated, Austria briefed the General on the current situation. "One week ago, Captain Feliciano Vargas defected. As you may have heard, Vargas is heavily involved in the politics in Italy and has been in Germany as a sort of...ambassador, representing the interests of Italy in this war. However, lately, he has been acting suspicious…so much so…it put everyone, including the Fuhrer, on edge. One week ago, our suspicious were confirmed when he shot and nearly killed Captain Beilschmidt, and then he disappeared. We suspect he is in Italy…and that Italy will soon go to war with the Axis." The General's expression became grim. "We must prepare for the worst then."

* * *

"Miss Hedervary!" One of the guards called as he entered the house. "Yes?" Hungary called back from the kitchen where she was preparing lunch. The guard entered the kitchen to find Hungary washing her hands in the sink. "You have received a letter from Captain Beilschmidt!" The young guard announced excitedly. Hungary immediately turned off the sink and approached the guard, beaming just as he was. "That is wonderful, Simon! Quickly, quickly, hand it over!" Hungary cheered. The guard handed her the letter with a grin, excited to hear what it said.

In the time that had passed since Italy left, Hungary and the guard that Italy knocked out, Simon, who was no more than 18 and probably the most innocent person in Germany's house at the time, as he had never seen action or done anything worse than make a snide comment in his life, had become friends. He had taken a great concern for Prussia and Austria—or as he knew them, Captain Beilschmidt and Captain Edelstein—which Hungary was grateful for.

However, as she read the letter, Hungary wasn't sure if Simon would want to hear any of the news Prussia had sent. He was on Austria's trail, which seemed good at first, until Prussia went on to say that Austria was alerting every military camp and base that he came across of Italy's treason. It was madness, according to Prussia. He couldn't figure out a rhyme or reason as to why Austria was behaving so brazenly. What was worse, Prussia had received Intel from a camp that he had passed through that spies across the border had reported that the Italian troops were mobilizing, securing their borders.

"He says…Gilbert says that he's right on Roderick's heels. They'll be back home in no time." Hungary lied to Simon. Simon smiled trustingly, oblivious to the lies he was being told. They were all oblivious to the lies and horrors taking place around them.

* * *

Later that evening, just as she was about to settle down for the night, Hungary entered Germany's bedroom. She flicked on the lights on with no fear of awaking its occupant. Just as she left him hours ago, Hungary found Germany tucked in his bed. He was hooked up to an IV drip, around his head was a bandanna of bandages, and he looked fast asleep. He was in a coma.

Hungary seated herself on the edge of Germany's bed, barely making an impression in the extra firm mattress. The Hungarian looked upon the German's face sadly, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. She felt guilt at the fact it was all partially her fault, no matter how one looked at it. Still, it didn't seem fair that just when she felt everything was right, that it was all going to be like it used to be, it all went wrong.

Hungary leaned down and kissed Germany on the forehead, and then stood up. She flicked off the light as she exited the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. When she was in her own room, she collapsed onto her bed, and then dissolved into sobs.

* * *

Romano collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily and sweating like a Spanish pig. Veneziano stood over him sword still in hand with a worried expression. "Fratello, you could have said you were tired. We could have stopped our match." He chastised Romano. His response was a scowl and a grumble about Veneziano being some sort of fencing-demon incarnate. Veneziano simply laughed lightly and helped Romano to his feet.

The Italy brothers exited their fencing studio, thus entering a small lounge. Both brothers took their favorite seats—Romano in his red winged-back chair by the fireplace, as he liked the warmth of the flames even though it was almost summer time, and Veneziano on the settee by the window, where sunshine was billowing into the room. Veneziano reclined horizontally on the settee, stretching out his aching muscles. Despite the fact that Romano had lost, it was still a rather difficult fight for Veneziano. After all, he hadn't handled a sword since the Risorgimento and he hadn't been back in practice very long.

Romano kicked back and put his feet up, letting out a sigh of relief. "Ah~! Finally, some time to relax!" Romano yawned, closing his eyes, ready for a siesta. Veneziano watched from the settee as Romano's breathing slowly evened out and he fell fast asleep in his chair. Soon after, Veneziano closed his own eyes, ready to join his Fratello in dreamland after their exhausting sword match.

"Captain Vargas! Other Captain Vargas!"

Both Romano and Veneziano jerked awake, both looking around confusedly for who had called for them. Not a moment later, a soldier rushed into the lounge, his breathing labored and a panicked expression on his face. "We have just received word that the Germans have learned of our betrayal and are mobilizing for combat." The soldier informed. Immediately, Romano and Veneziano were on their feet.

* * *

"We'll make our move in 24-hours," The General announced to his officers, all of whom nodded. The General then dismissed them all; except for one man with glasses. "Thank you for your warning, Captain Edelstein. You have saved my men from possible destruction and for that, I am thankful." The General said, shaking Austria's hand firmly and thankfully. Austria nodded his head with a neutral expression. "It was no problem…I was just…being a good soldier." He responded almost hesitantly. The General noticed. "Captain Edelstein, why did you really—"

"Excuse me, General?" A soldier interjected as he entered the tent. "There is someone here to see you. He seems to know Captain Edelstein." The soldier informed. The General did not notice Austria's eyes widen as he responded, "Bring him in." The soldier left the tent and a moment later, Austria's worst fears were realized: Prussia entered the tent.

* * *

The dark haired girl was not fond of Berlin. She never had been. Not the city, not the state, and the personification was not her favorite person in the word either. But she had to live there now because according to her father, it was safer there for her at the moment, during the war. She didn't understand why he was so protective. She was a nation; it's not like she could die or hurt very easily. She could even fight if she wished. She knew for a fact her father had fought wars when he was physically even younger than her, which at the point was around 12.

But she didn't protest. For now, she'd keep an eye on the political scene on home front while her father and uncles went off and fought all the battles, just as her mother had done when she had been alive; when she had been a nation. The dark haired girl took pride in the fact she was so much like her mother. According to her father and uncle and Miss Hungary, she was a lot like her in looks and personlity: intelligent, regal, and iron-willed. The dark girl was proud to be so much like her mother, though she wished dearly to be a warrior like her mother as well.

Alas, her father was a protective man and would not allow it. So the girl was left in the Capital city, Berlin, her only company being the obnoxious personification of Berlin, to pray for her family to triumph in the war. She was confident they would. But still the dark haired, blue-eyed girl sat up that night, a sinking feeling in her gut as she attempted to write yet another letter to her father, no had not responded to her last one or the one before it.

She had not heard word from any of them, her father, or uncles, or anyone, in a long time. Not in the last few weeks. Not even from her father or Mr. Italy, who usually enthusiastically responded her letters, had written back to her. Worse, hers and her family's boss was becoming more erratic by the day. He scared both her and Berlin, they could agree on that much. The war was escalating to its climax, she knew. Brandenburg had a bad feeling about its conclusion, however.

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think of that bit at the end? Of this "Brandenburg" character? **

**I have a quick question for all you readers: At the end of the story, one of the humans I have mentioned in this story will make a second appearance, and you guys can pick which one? So who do you want to see again? **

**So who do you want to see again in the epilogue of the story when it's over?**

**Broomhilde Burger from Chapter 1—Memories of Centuries Passed**

**Greta Burger from Chapter 1—Memories of Centuries Passed**

**Simon from Chapter 8—Captivity **

**Gertrude from Chapter 8—Captivity**

**Simon from this chapter; although he may be mentioned a few times more anyways…**

**The General from this chapter; although he may receive more appearances anyways**

**Thanks for reading! J'taime mon petite reviewers! **


	17. Chapter 17

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 17: Confrontation

* * *

Romano and Veneziano were at the border by early morning the next day, and what they found broke their hearts. A small village, right on the border, was in ruins. The battle had cooled down before they arrived, but the Italy brothers observed that fires were still burning, bodies of soldiers and citizens were being carried away, and that the city was still be evacuated and searched for survivors. They solemnly entered the village, walking down what used to be a marketplace, examining the rumble and devastated buildings with sadness. No matter how many cities they saw destroyed, no nation ever became numb to the sight.

They met the commanding officers in village commons, where the remaining able-bodied troops had gathered. Right away, the brothers could tell that there would be little to no good news from the officers' report. "They out number us 3 to 1, sir. Causalities number in the hundreds already and our artillery is low." One officer informed much to Romano and Veneziano's disappointment. "The surrounding villages are all right, right?" Veneziano asked hopefully. Thankfully, another officer nodded. "They have all been evacuated to a city south of here. Before they left, they were gracious enough to leave us food and water from their homes." Veneziano, as well as Romano, let out a sigh of relief. Finally, some good news, Veneziano thought.

Still, something was bothering his Fratello, Veneziano could see plainly. Thankfully, Romano wasn't one to hold his tongue, so Veneziano didn't have to wait long to hear what was on his mind. "Do you have any clue as to how those German bastards found us out so quickly?" Romano asked in a calm and controlled, yet testy manner. It always amazed Veneziano how Romano could seem grumpy no matter what mood he was actually in; whether he was happy, sad, or as calm as a Buddhist monk, Romano would always seem grumpy. Usually it was only Veneziano and a few other nations, like Spain, who could tell what mood he was really in, while others normally just assumed he was perpetually pissed off like the officers did at the moment.

"Well, um, Sir…we really have no idea." Answered one officer nervously deciding to be the brave one and tell Romano the truth. Romano growled in frustration and then barked that they best find out soon. Veneziano then watched as his Fratello stomped off to God knows where, leaving Veneziano to deal with their remaining business with the officers. "Don't worry; he's not mad at you. Just let him go off and brood for a bit and he'll be as peachy as my friend Elizabeta's cobbler!" Veneziano reassured the officers, though the mere mention of Elizabeta and her cobbler made his heart ache and his stomach growl quietly.

His words must have been comforting, however, as the officers seemed to relax. The rest of their encounter was pleasant and went along smoothly, and by the time Veneziano left the officers, he already knew who was behind the attack. The officers had reported strange sightings of a young man with silver hair and reddish-purple eyes fighting alongside a man with glasses in battle on the side of the Germans. Both men were said be frighteningly strong, though the man with glasses seemed less strong than the albino, and there were "frightening" reports that gunfire barely fazed them. Before the battle ended, the albino left a message with a young soldier.

It was a message for Veneziano and a warning for all the armed Italian forces present in the village.

The message, according to the young private that the albino had left it with, was: "He said he'll meet you and your brother here in the village tomorrow. If you come alone and send all of us away, they won't bring their remaining forces either. He said that this was personal business and he'd prefer to leave out guns and bloodshed this time around."

When asked his response by the officers, Veneziano said nothing and simply left the scene to find his Fratello. They needed to talk. They needed to prepare for a confrontation.

* * *

Before dawn the next day, Romano and Veneziano ordered all remaining troops to leave the village and instead relocate to a large field over the hills surrounding the ruins of what was once a quaint little town. When they had all left, Veneziano and Romano camped out in one of the deserted buildings in the town commons. They huddled under a window, the door barricaded just in case Prussia didn't keep his word about not bringing his troops, their guns ready and loaded, in their hands rather than in their holsters. Occasionally, Veneziano or his brother would peak over the window sill, through the cracked glass to see what was going on outside. They sat there for many hours, until mid day, before Prussia arrived, Austria along side him.

Prussia and Austria stood in the middle of the commons in full, yet tarnished uniform, their wounds from the previous battle having already healed in seemed by their lack of visible injuries. Austria, however, did have cracked glasses, Veneziano could see. He was also happy to see them apparently unarmed. Slowly, the Italian brothers exited the building they had been held up in and met the Germans in the middle of the commons, only feet apart from one another.

There was a tense silence. Austria's lips were in a thin, grim line, his eyes on the ground rather then meeting anyone's gaze. He looked highly uncomfortable. Prussia's combatant side was only showing through dimly, his diplomatic side coming out for the first time in decades in its stead. He face was passive, though his eyes portrayed a desire for this to go well, and his body language was proud and tall, giving the impression he was not going to be a pushover in this discussion, not that any one expected him to be. Beside him, Veneziano could see from the corner of his eye that Romano was glaring at the Germans, but he stood tall and kept a stiff upper lip. Veneziano offered the Germans a smile, hopeful that this would go well, just like Prussia, and glad to see them, as well.

"Prussia, Austria," Veneziano greeted. "It's nice to see you, again." He said with a small, but somewhat forced smile. Prussia responded with a grin and a snort of laughter, while Austria simply looked up and him and then averted his gaze a split second later. "Yeah, long time no see, Italy." Prussia laughed lowly. His laughter died quickly, however, and instead, a small, nostalgic smile graced his features and his eyes seemed to shine with something reminded Veneziano of the look people get when they see an old friend after a long time. "Really, I haven't seen this you for almost a century…it's nice to see you back to your old self, again." Prussia added. Veneziano's eyes widened a fraction. Prussia was actually happy he remembered his past?

Beside him, Romano chortled a cynical laugh. "Only you would be happy to see him this way, again, Prussia!" Romano sneered. "I bet you actually miss those days when my brother enjoyed kicking Austria's ass as much as you!" Prussia and Romano laughed loudly together at their little inside joke. It irked Veneziano slightly that he wasn't included in it, even though it was about him, it seemed. Austria seemed even more agitated, as he looked up and glared at both before shouting, "Silence, you two! We have more pressing matters to discuss!" Prussia and Romano reluctantly quieted down before the tense silence returned to the commons of the village.

Prussia was the one to open the discussions. "Listen, Italy, I know you must be pissed that we lied to you. But the truth would only have hurt you—look at what has happened because you found out the truth—it was for your own good. Our lies are no reason to turn traitor, however. Germany's in a freakin' coma because of this. Italy, just put an end to this crap and come home were you belong, with us." Veneziano stared at Prussia for a long moment, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, his mouth had fallen into a slight gape, as if he were shocked by his words, as if Prussia had just been spouting off gibberish rather than making a plea for him to rejoin the Axis.

They all looked at him expectantly, awaiting his answer. Prussia seemed hopeful that Veneziano would concede defeat, although, in his eyes, Veneziano could see nervousness and doubt. Austria was looking at him from the corner of his eye, although his feelings on the situation were hard to define. Romano was just scowling, probably internally screaming for him to just shoot the Germans and be done with it, to do anything really, just not to be stupid and actually take up Prussia's offer. Their gazes made Veneziano nervous, but he knew all along what his answer was. "Prussia, you and…basically everyone except for Germany—maybe—lied to me for so long. You have no idea how it feels to find out your entire life has been nothing but a lie, that you aren't the person you thought you were. Do you know how much it hurt to regain my memories? I felt my heart break a thousand times over! For so long, I was just the weak little underling you all wanted me to be, and now I know that was a lie! I am not your little maid anymore! I'm home, I'm my own nation now, and I won't give that up again!" Veneziano explained, tears running down his cheeks towards the end, his face red.

Prussia and Austria seemed hurt by his words, and Romano looked as he was both proud and jealous. They must still be adjusting to the fact I'm not the same Veneziano anymore, he thought. He didn't blame them. He was still adjusting to it his self. Ever since his memories came back, he felt like a different person, and that was because he was a different person. Veneziano had realized that the Italy they had known for the better part of the last century and a half was not truly him. He was just another lie. Veneziano was sick of lies.

Several moments passed before Austria took a deep breath and reached for something in this coat. The Italy brothers tensed and Prussia looked crestfallen. Veneziano could just barely make out the apology under the albino's breath. "I guess we have no choice then," Austria sighed as he took a radio out of his coat and held it up to his mouth. "Italy remains loyal to the Allies. I repeat, Italy remains loyal to the Allies. Prepare for invasion." Romano and Veneziano's hands flew to the guns in their holsters.

* * *

Veneziano struggled to regain his breath as he crouched behind the remains of a building's walls. His mind was racing, but he could hardly hear himself think over the rapid gunfire and canons going off around him. One thought, however, resounded clearly. How had it all gone to hell so fast, Veneziano wondered.

One moment, they had just been talking, the next, German troops had flooded into the village, and before Veneziano could react, Romano was pulling out a walkie-talkie and calling for back-up. Moments later, the Italian troops stormed over the hill and into the village, and all hell broke loose. In the fray, Veneziano was separated from Romano, and he quickly lost track of Austria and Prussia. All he could do was draw his weapon and start firing at anything with a swastika.

That had been several hours ago, and now, he was out of ammo and injured. Veneziano had been shot twice in the back, once in the thigh, and once right in the heart. All the wounds had healed miraculously quickly, yet the blood loss had weakened him. Veneziano remembered the look of horror on one young German soldier's face when he fired at him and hit him right in the heart, only for Veneziano to remain standing, the wound barely affecting him, except maybe stumbling back a few steps. Veneziano shot the boy dead. He had witnessed the powers of a nation, and if he lived, he may very well blow their secret. Veneziano still felt like a monster doing so.

The sun would be setting soon, Veneziano thought. But the battle looked nowhere near ending and in the dark of the night, things would only get bloodier and the battle may very well spill over into nearby towns and villages. Veneziano hoped that it wouldn't; he wanted his people to have homes to return to when all this was over. We need to end this fast, Veneziano thought. But how? He stopped and thought hard for several moments before coming up with a few solutions. They could just retreat, but then they would be giving in to invasion, allowing the Nazis to occupy their land. After all the crap he had been through in the last few months, Veneziano was not going to let that happen. Hell no. They could always call the Allies, but they were miles away down South. America and England could personally be there by nightfall, but their troops couldn't be there for weeks. That left one option, one that made Veneziano sick to his stomach: take down Prussia and Austria.

Of course, he could never kill them, and he hoped he never would have to, but in order to end this battle and get the Germans to draw back, Veneziano would have to at least injure them. Injuries inflicted by other nations would be far more substantial than ones inflicted by humans. If Prussia and Austria, if either one of them was injured enough to have to leave the battle, would never let it continue in their absence. With Veneziano and Romano around, it would be a catastrophic defeat for them.

He needed a gun, though. He was out of ammo and really, it would be easier just to take one off a dead body than search for ammo. Veneziano peaked over the wall he was hiding behind. Thankfully, the street was almost deserted. Though bodies littered the road, their blood pooling in the gutters and streaming down into the sewers, no live man was about where Veneziano could see them. Gunfire could be heard not too far away however, and Veneziano knew that the battle had only moved over a few streets and was not over by any means.

Veneziano crept out from behind the wall and tip-toed around the bodies, examining them as he passed for guns. Unfortunately, it seemed their comrades had taken upon themselves to loot the bodies of their functioning weapons and ammo before they deserted the area. Veneziano prayed—and he hated his self for it—that he could find one man who died having not taken a shot, the gun still in his hand and still fully loaded. That would be a blessing at the moment. God was not merciful.

Instead, when he came a across a man—no, a boy—lying face-first on the ground, one of his arms trapped beneath him, he nudged the soldier onto his back with his foot and revealed that his trapped arm wielded a handgun, still. Veneziano found the sight saddening. A young man no older than what Veneziano was physically, lying in a pool of his own and his comrades' blood, his cause of death clear by the red hold in his forehead, his gun still gripped stubbornly in his hand even in death, his finger locked in the trigger position, ready to squeeze. Veneziano felt bad prying it out of his hand.

He checked the chamber. It only had two bullets left. Veneziano groaned miserably and bit his lip, wondering briefly if he could spare some more time to find ammo. One look at the sun setting over the horizon quickly erased those thoughts from his head. He didn't have time for that. The gun would have to do. Veneziano slipped the gun into the holster at his hip and then focused his mind on one thing: sensing another nation. All nations had a presence about them that only other nations could feel. It was how they located one another when needed, such as now.

Veneziano sensed three presences, all nearby—Romano, Prussia, and Austria. Romano was the closest: the next street over, in fact. Austria was the farthest away; on the other side of the village. Prussia was closer. Close enough for Veneziano to hesitantly choose him as his target. He made his way through a narrow alley way over to the next street, which, thankfully was deserted. Veneziano then made his way up the street, towards the town square.

There was complete silence in the village commons. But not for a lack of fighting. The commons was now the sight of a standoff between Italian and German troops. Veneziano did not dare to enter the commons, instead crouching behind an overturned vegetable cart near a street corner that lead into the commons. From his position, Veneziano could easily make out the barrels of guns peaking out of windows and behind corners, aiming at other windows and corners where other barrels were peaking out. At the slightest twitch or movement, a shot was fired, and then dead silence returned, with the hum of the battles in the streets nearby being the only sounds that could be heard.

Veneziano never did like standoffs. They were even more daunting than the battles that followed them. Nervously, Veneziano peaked over the overturned cart, and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't feel his brains get blown out of his skull. He had never personally been shot in the head—as far as he knew, at least—but other nations had told him it hurt even worse than being shot in the heart—which he had been before, he remembered it _very_ well—and had even worse consequences. Germany's coma was proof of that, Veneziano thought, his gut clenching.

He sensed Prussia somewhere in the commons; perhaps crouched under a window or behind a street corner, maybe even aiming one of those guns. Veneziano wondered if he would get lucky and spot Prussia's distinctive silver locks and violet-red eyes. No such luck, however, as he scanned the area. I guess I'll have to go after Austria, Veneziano thought as he began to scoot backwards, away from the commons.

_Click!_

Veneziano froze. His blood ran cold like liquid nitrogen, freezing him where he was. His brown eyes were wide in shock. How had he not heard someone sneak up behind him? "Stand up and turn around." A familiar voice ordered. Prussia, Veneziano realized with surprise. But how? He wondered. He had been in the commons, he thought as he slowly stood and turned to face the albino. Unsurprisingly, Prussia was barely unscathed by the battle, especially compared to Veneziano. Prussia had no more than a few freshly forming bruises and scratches as far as Veneziano could see. However, a large splotch of blood on his jacket made Veneziano wonder if he had sustained an injury earlier in the battle or if he had simply been in close combat and his opponent had been the one badly injured. Veneziano felt bad for any human that found their selves facing off with a nation in battle. They had little chance of winning.

Veneziano eyed the gun in Prussia's hand warily. Veneziano worried that Prussia may take this as an opportunity to seek his revenge for hurting his little brother. If he remembered correctly, Prussia was not exactly…forgiving when it came to those he cared for. He had never forgiven Austria for "girl-ifying" Hungary, or Poland for making him a Duchy of his and Lithuania's Commonwealth. Veneziano simply hoped that Prussia would stick to morals about not liking to torture enemy prisoners, although, even if he didn't, he couldn't blame him for wanting to after what Veneziano had done.

"P-Prussia," Veneziano stammered warily when unexpectedly, Prussia put away his gun back in its holster and held up his hands as if surrendering. "I just want to talk," He said seriously. Hesitantly, Veneziano nodded his head and relaxed slightly. Seeing this, Prussia relaxed as well and let out a soft sigh. "Look," He began. "You need to know why we lied to you for so long," Prussia explained. Veneziano's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "We weren't just doing it to keep you under our thumb, we did it because…Italy, if you knew what happened last time…" Prussia trailed off. "What did happen last time?" Veneziano asked softly, desperately. He wanted to know. If he didn't find out what happened in his past now, he never would.

Taking a deep breath, Prussia replied, "The Risorgimento, Italy. Your final war of independence." That was fairly obvious, Veneziano knew. He had figured that much out with the help of the photo album. But there had to be way more to the story than what history books and the photos let on. "Prussia, tell me what happened, please!" The Italian pleaded. Prussia shook his head, however, and Veneziano's stomach dropped into his left foot. "Why not—!?" He asked in shock. How could he just leave him hanging like this, after…

Veneziano's eyes narrowed. "What will it take to get you to tell me?" He asked. Prussia smirked cruelly and answered, "Come back to the Axis." Veneziano should have known. Of course, Prussia would try and barter with him. "No way," Veneziano protested. "I'm not going back! Never!" He shouted. Prussia's eyes narrowed. "Fine, then we'll do this the hard way." Before Veneziano knew it, he was on the ground, his arms pinned over his head as Prussia struggled to restrain him. Veneziano struggled in Prussia's grip, but Prussia was stronger than he looked, and so, Veneziano did the only thing he could do. He kicked if where the sun don't shine.

Prussia rolled off him with a groan, moaning about his vital regions being off limits in a fight, but Veneziano didn't listen and hurriedly climbed to his feet, although internally, he felt really bad about that low blow. The Italian then proceeded to begin to run down the street, away from Prussia. He was half way down the road when he suddenly faltered mid-step, his breathing ragged, and an odd sinking feeling in his stomach. He had to go back, he realized. He had to get Prussia to tell him the truth. This was his only chance.

He took off, back up the street, where Prussia was just beginning to stand up again, glaring at him venomously. "Really, Italy? _Really_?" He asked, clearly ticked off. "S-sorry," Veneziano stammered sheepishly as he approached. He then punched Prussia in the face, knocking the albino the ground again. "Ow!" Prussia shouted, rubbing his cheek irritably. "That was a cheap shot, you little—!" Prussia's angry words were cut short by Veneziano's knee colliding with his stomach. "Sorry!" Veneziano shouted in apology, genuinely feeling bad about what he was doing. It seemed less sincere when accompanied by his fist smashing into Prussia's face once again.

It didn't take long for Prussia to start retaliate, and soon it just a plain out fist fight. Fists were flying, and so were kicks. At one point, Prussia even threw Veneziano against a wall. "No one beats the awesome Prussia in a fist fight! No one!" Prussia cackled as his fist collided with Veneziano's cheek, sending the smaller nation backwards. Veneziano barely recovered from the blow when he felt Prussia's fist in his gut.

Usually, Prussia wouldn't be so rough with him, Veneziano being a very old childhood friend almost, but frankly, Prussia was pissed and none of that really mattered considering how this fight would end: with one of them being captured by the enemy. It was as his fist collided with Prussia's face for the umpteenth time, covered if both his and the albino's blood, that Veneziano heard the familiar call of his name. "Veneziano!" Romano screamed on the other end of the street. The tide of the fight changed then.

Not a moment later, Romano was rushing towards them, and before Veneziano knew, his elder brother tackled Prussia to the ground. A new struggle began as Romano tried to pin Prussia down while screaming at Veneziano, "Get your gun out, idiota! Didn't it ever occur to you to get your damn gun out! Shoot him!" Veneziano fumbled with the gun in his holster, having completely forgotten it even existed in the midst of the fight. He then aimed it down at Prussia, his hands trembling and his aim unsure, and then fired. He missed, of course, and the bullet ricocheted against the cobblestone road and hit a window, breaking the glass. Veneziano flinched at the sound shattered glass falling to the ground.

Romano growled angrily and shouted, "Hurry up! I can't h-hold him f-forever!" Indeed, Prussia was winning in their struggle and soon would be free of Romano's grasp unless Veneziano hit him with his next shot; his last bullet. Taking a deep breath, Veneziano aimed at Prussia's head and resisting the urge to close his eyes tightly, he pulled the trigger. He hit his target, and Prussia fell unconscious. His body went limp, and his struggle against Romano ended. Romano breathed a sigh of relief and then climbed to his feet, clamping Veneziano on the back and whispering soothingly in his ear. "You did the right thing." Hesitantly, Veneziano nodded, although his stomach was twisted like pretzel.

Romano pulled out his radio and called for a few men to come to their location to retrieve a "prisoner". Veneziano flinched at the word. But he knew it was correct. He had taken a friend prisoner and it made him feel like the worst person to ever walk the earth. But his brother laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and spared him a rare smile. "I sense Austria has left the area. I'll stay here and take care of things. You head back to base camp." He said. Hesitantly, Veneziano nodded and turned away to take his leave. When he arrived back at base camp, he collapsed into his cot, unconscious before his head hit his lumpy pillow.

* * *

"Brandenburg," Berlin's tone was worried. "Are you okay? Do you feel sick again?" He questioned. Brandenburg shook her head, but made no move to get up from her position, her face buried in her pillow, blankets wrapped around her, incasing her in a cacoon of warmth that did not offer the comfort she hoped for. Berlin hoped off of his bed, which was right next to hers, and climbed onto Brandenburg's bed instead. He began to gently shake her until she turned over and glared at him. "I'm fine." She grumbles, but Berlin can see she's been crying. The blond haired boy frowns down at her.

"No you aren't." He states matter of factly. "What's wrong?" He asks. Brandenburg is quiet for a long time. Finally, the young dark-haired girl answers. "My father hasn't been answering my letters. I think something bad happened." Brandenburg suddenly looks ready to cry, but, being the stubburn girl she is, refuses to let the tears fall. Instead, she sits up in bed and climbs out. She sits herself by the window, looking out at the city of Berlin. Berlin follows after her, and lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right. I'm sure he's simply busy. With the war and what not." He says reassuringly. Brandenburg does not look convinced.

Suddenly, an idead strikes Berlin. "Let's go visit him!" He exclaims. Brandenburg looks at him in surprise. "But we can't. We're supposed to stay in the capital and do our jobs." She protests. Brandenburg is nothing if not dutiful. Berlin knows just how to overide her duty-complex, however. "_Well_, I suppose we can't, but then again...Your mother would have done anything if it meant her family's safety. Wouldn't you do the same?" As Berlin predicted, a fire lights up Brandenburg's blue eyes and a grin infamous among nations appears upon her features. "You're right, Berlin!" She exclaims.

"Looks like we're taking a roadtrip!" She says with a grin. "Without our boss' knowlegde, of course!" She adds with a wink. "We're?" Berlin ask in surprise. Brandenburg looks at him like he's stupid, as usual. "You are the one who said "let's" She says simply. All Berlin can do is sigh and defeat and try his best to hide his smile.

* * *

**A/N: Things are really heating up! Prussia taken captive, what will happen next? And who is this "Brandenburg" girl?**

**Stay tuned!**


	18. Chapter 18

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 18: Dreams of Innocent Days

* * *

Veneziano, after collapsing into his cot, fell into the deepest slumber he had experienced since before this whole terrible situation started. He slept with an odd since of peace, and anyone who gave him a good look could tell he was having a nice dream.

But it wasn't a dream. It was a pleasant memory of the days when he was not Veneziano Italy, but simply Feliciano.

_A young auburn-haired boy, no older than six or maybe seven, gave a happy squeal as he ran about a magnificent villa, chased by giggling and smiling handmaidens. The boy was bare as the day he was born—or rather, appeared—and one handmaiden chasing after him clutched a white drape, along with purple and red cloth, a golden pin; the makings of a chiton to clothe the boy once he was caught. "Lord Feliciano! Please stop! You must be clothed!" One handmaiden called, though her giggling made the statement less than convincing. _

_The little boy, Feliciano, continued to run about, laughing loudly, smiling brightly, and carefree. Just as he had been for decades—that anyone would assume the little boy was any older than four or five, was actually coming up on his one-hundredth year of life soon. Feliciano turned a corner, intending to make his way to the gardens and hop into the fountain to play with the little birds who liked to bathe there. Instead, a firm, wrinkled hand clamped around his arm and twisted him around. Feliciano struggled a moment before looking up and seeing who is captor was: Octavia, his wrinkled old nanny; one of the few around the villa who had been around long enough to realize he was not a normal child. Feliciano ceased his struggling immediately. _

_The handmaidens caught up with him a moment or so later, and they cowered under Octavia's dark-eyed glare. "Clothe the Lord Feliciano and send him off to his lessons, immediately." She ordered sternly. The maidens nodded and got straight to work. Within minutes, Feliciano was looking like a proper child of Roman Nobility. Octavia released him from her grasp then and sent him on his way. Feliciano felt bad for the handmaidens as he went on his merry way. Octavia was going to give them an earful. _

_With the escort of one fortunate handmaiden, Feliciano arrived in the drawing room without much incident. He came in quietly as possible, but the tutor, Old Man Anthony, as Francis called him behind his back—though he had no right, being even older than Anthony in truth—still stopped mid-sentence and gave Feliciano a look. Feliciano knew why. Old Man Anthony was another member of the household who knew he was not a normal child, so he didn't treat Feliciano like a child. Feliciano didn't know what made him different from other children. Not yet, at least. _

_Francis smiled at Feliciano as he took his seat beside him, and across the table, Antonio grinned, but Feliciano noticed they looked sleepy. He almost groaned. Was Anthony teaching something really boring, today? He wondered. On the other side of Feliciano was Derrick, a strange Germanic boy Grandpa had brought back with him years ago from the north. Derrick was odd, Feliciano thought back then. He still thought that. Derrick had never spoken a word to him in their years together at the villa. He only glared at him, especially now, when he had showed up late and interrupted their lessons. Feliciano gave a sheepish smile and then reluctantly gave Anthony is full attention._

* * *

_Later, after lessons, all the young boys took off towards the gardens, minus Derrick, who returned to his room. Derrick didn't like playing with the other boys for some reason, Feliciano knew. It didn't stop him from asking if he would like to tag along everyday, even if he knew he would refuse. Maybe one day, Feliciano hoped, he would accept and they could play together forever and be friends. The though made the little roman boy smile._

_In the gardens, Feliciano and his playmates, Francis and Antonio, climbed a tree together. As they climbed, Francis and Antonio carried on a "big boy" conversation that Feliciano was not allowed to be included in, though he discreetly listened in. "I got a letter from my big sister today! She's finally become a nation, Francis, like father and our mothers!" Antonio exclaimed excitedly. Francis hushed him. Feliciano knew they weren't supposed to speak of their parents and grandparents being nations. It was a secret, Grandpa had told him time and time again when he rarely visited the villa. _

_Francis whispered up to Antonio, who had climbed higher than any of them, being the ambitious boy he was, "What about your mother, Iberia?" Antonio was quiet for a long time. "I haven't heard from her in a long time…and big sister…she didn't mention her at all. All she said was she was a nation now and that she wants me to come visit her soon in the provinces." Antonio said, his voice oddly sad. Feliciano didn't understand why. He wrote to Grandpa a lot, but a lot of times he didn't write him back for weeks, months, and once even an entire year because he was so busy being a great empire. Feliciano understood he was just busy; he wanted to be just like Grandpa someday and be a great empire like him someday!_

_Francis climbed up higher so that way he and Antonio were at the same level, and then the pair exchanged whispers that Feliciano couldn't decipher. When they were done, however, Antonio looked incredibly sad and Francis put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Feliciano was just about to climb up further to ask what was wrong when suddenly, to his surprise, Francis and Antonio's faces lit up with smiles and they hurriedly began climbing down from the tree. "H-Hey, where're you going?" Feliciano asked as they passed him. "To play soldier!" They eagerly replied in unison as they jumped out of the tree once they were low enough. Feliciano followed suit, minus the jumping part. He climbed carefully all the way to the bottom._

_Feliciano then toddled after the boys to the training field. It was a large, square patch of dirt used to train, although no one had ever used it accept for the guards who protected the villa and Grandpa when he came around. But now, for the first time ever, Francis and Antonio entered the field and picked up some wooden swords to spar. Feliciano sat in the grass outside the field, confused by their actions. Sure, Antonio liked to watch the guards spar occasionally, but Francis never showed they least bit of interest in fighting. Did they even know how to use a sword, Feliciano wondered. _

_The sparring session began with Antonio eagerly just swiping at the air with his weapon while Francis took a moment to get his bearings. Then the boys started to smash their sword together, with none of the finesse that the guards had when they practiced or the splendor. Feliciano watched them, unimpressed. Were they really trying to train, he wondered, or just playing? He decided to simply ask. "Are you really training or are you just playing around?" He shouted. Feliciano must have said something wrong, because then Francis and Antonio turned on him with a glare. _

"_As if you could do any better!" Francis shouted, with Antonio backing him up with a vigorous nod. Feliciano shrank back. "I-I didn't mean—I'm sorry!" He stammered. Francis and Antonio exchanged looks, and then Antonio tossed Feliciano his wooden sword. "Let's see you try!" Antonio said with a bright, wide grin. Antonio could not pull off a cruel smile, even if he tried. Hesitantly, Feliciano picked up the wooden sword and approached the training field. France took a sloppy fighting stance. Feliciano, not knowing what else to do, took the stance he remembered the guards taking when they trained. _

_Francis took a swing at him with the wooden sword, and Feliciano shrank back a few steps out of his reach. Francis took another swipe at him, and Feliciano back up even more, holding his sword out defensively, though he didn't make a move to use it. Instead, he backed up more and more with each swing and swipe of Francis' sword. Until finally, he was backed into a corner, up against one of the columns that sat in each corner of the square. Francis pointed his sword at Feliciano victoriously and gave a laugh. "Give up! You're cornered!" He exclaimed loudly. Feliciano whimpered and held up his own sword higher, his stance becoming more and more guarded. His eyes shifted around, looking for a means of escape. It was then that he noticed that his and Francis' sparring match had brought spectators; maids and guards had gathered to watch from the windows and doorways, and some even stood outside, curious. _

_In the crowd, Feliciano spotted a familiar face. The first face he had ever seen: his grandfather, the Roman Empire. He looked on, as curious as the rest, but in his eyes, even from a distance, Feliciano could see his disappointment in him. Feliciano returned his gaze to Francis in shame. He was the grandson of the greatest empire in the known world. He should not lose so easily. _

_For the first time, Feliciano swung his sword at Francis, much to the latter's surprise. Their wooden swords collided once, and then again as Feliciano took a sudden second swing. Taken aback, literally, Francis stumbled back a few steps, surprised at Feliciano's sudden vigor. But he recovered, and took a swing at Feliciano in return, only for Feliciano to sidestep the blow and swing at him once more. Not seeing the blow, Francis was whacked in the hip by Feliciano's sword. He fell to the ground on him bum and Feliciano pointed his sword down at him, at his neck, a little grin on his face. "I win!" He cheered with a little laugh. Francis, after a moment's surprise, stood up and returned the smile and laugh. _

_Antonio ran up to them, beaming. "That was incredible! Where did you learn to fight, Feliciano! Is Rome giving you lessons?" He asked eagerly. Feliciano shook his head, only amazing Antonio even more, and the Iberian-Roman boy's eyes grew as wide as dish plates. Antonio then picked of Francis's sword and demanded a fight against Feliciano as well and Feliciano complied. Together, for the rest of the evening, the three boys sparred and laughed and enjoyed themselves. They were none of wiser to the changes in their lives that were quickly approaching._

* * *

_Feliciano sat on the front steps of the villa and watched with sad eyes as the guards carried his belongings one by one out of the house. His clothes, his toys, etcetera. It was all coming with him to a place called Venice. Feliciano already hated the place, despite his grandpa's claims that he would love it, for someday it would be his. It would be his new home, Grandpa had said. Feliciano frowned at the thought. Rome was his home. The villa was home. Francis, Antonio, the maids and guards, Octavia and Anthony, and even Derrick; they were his home. _

_But Grandpa had decided it no longer would be. Not long after the day Feliciano had beaten Francis in their swordfight, Rome had called them all into his office and sat them down. He was taking Feliciano to be raised separately in Venice in the north. Feliciano had been devastated, as were Antonio and Francis, and oddly, Derrick seemed saddened as well. They had all kicked up a fit that Rome had quickly and firmly put down, saying it was for Feliciano's own good and theirs. _

_So today, weeks later, Feliciano watched as in the early morning light as car upon cart was filled with his and Rome's possessions. Beside him, Francis and Antonio sat, equally crestfallen. Feliciano toyed with his new clothes, given to him by his grandfather. White papal clothes, apparently. Feliciano didn't understand why he had to wear them; he was still new to Catholicism. So new, he still sometimes prayed to Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Apollo, and even Mars at times. He had prayed to all of them last night, hoping they'd somehow change his Grandpa's mind. Now Feliciano wondered if he should have prayed to the Catholic God instead. Maybe he would have helped him. _

_When the last cart was filled, Grandpa came out of the villa and took Feliciano gently by the hand and crouched down before him and the other boys. "I promise you, this is for the best. I'm not just doing this to be cruel." He said. Though sniffling, all the boys nodded their heads. Rome nodded as well and then pulled Feliciano to his feet. As they walked away from the villa for perhaps the last time, Feliciano turned back and looked over his shoulder to see Antonio fighting down tears, a saddened Francis, and, peaking out the doorway, barely seen at all, Derrick. The Germanic boy gave him a small wave goodbye. Feliciano spared him a smile and returned it before turning around and leaving behind his home._

* * *

_A century passed before Feliciano returned to Rome in the company of his now aged Grandfather. The city was different, Feliciano realized when they arrived. New buildings replaced old ones, not a single familiar face around, and even the air of the city was unfamiliar. Feliciano did not feel at home anymore in Rome. He missed Venice, and Milan, and Florence. He missed the north. But as their carriage rolled through the rancid city streets, Grandpa gave him a reassuring pat on the back and ruffled his hair, assuring him that everything would be fine. _

_Feliciano, unlike Rome, had changed little in the past century. He still looked six or maybe seven. He still loved to laugh and play and occasionally run around naked. Feliciano had learned a lot, however, in the past few decades. He learned how to paint and draw, sing and dance, and play a few instruments. Those were his favorite things to learn from his Grandpa and tutors. But they weren't the only things he learned._

_The little scars on Feliciano's chubby hands and the callous on his fingers were the only indication of his training in the last century. Rome had taken care to be sure Feliciano knew how to fight and how to hold his own in trade and politics. According to Grandpa, Feliciano was a gifted in trade, though he was lacking in politics, but he made up for it in fighting capabilities. Feliciano had found he was rather fond of swordplay and archery. _

_Grandpa Rome was very proud of him, he often said. He always told Feliciano he'd make a great empire someday, just like him. Unlike his elder brother, he would add disappointedly. Feliciano had never met his elder brother who resided in the South, but Grandpa Rome had once made him promise to protect him, as he wasn't as strong as Feliciano in many aspects. Feliciano had agreed. Now, Feliciano was going to meet his elder brother for the first time._

* * *

_Lovino looked a lot like him, Feliciano noticed when the boys came face to face outside the front of the villa. Yes, Lovino had darker hair and tanner skin, and his eyes were green rather than brown like Feliciano, but they looked quite alike. They even both had the strange small curl on the side of their head, granted Lovino's was on a different side from Feliciano's. Feliciano smiled at his slightly taller big brother. Lovino returned a small one._

"_Hello, I-I'm Feliciano, your, um, little brother." Feliciano shyly stammered as he stuck out his hand for Lovino to shake. Lovino looked at the hand contemplatively for a moment before taking it and giving it a shake. His small smile became a bugger one. "I'm Lovino, your Fratello." Happily, Feliciano grinned at him. He was sure they'd as thick as thieves._

* * *

_Despite Lovino's presence, Feliciano found the villa lonely in the following days. Francis and Antonio were gone, having returned to their mother's provinces, were they "replaced" their mothers. Feliciano didn't know why they had to be replaced. All he knew was that his friends were gone. Octavia and Anthony were gone as well; long dead, Feliciano knew, and that fact made him wish he had been there to say goodbye. Even if they had been strict and boring, they had been members of his family. But that family was gone now. The handmaidens, the guards, Francis and Antonio, and even Derrick, who had ran away a few decades ago, back to the north; they were all gone and Feliciano was alone._

_Not alone completely, however. Lovino kept him company. Together, the boys played and drew, and painted under Grandpa's watchful eyes. Feliciano was so happy when Grandpa praised his paintings and drawings. And he felt in high spirits after defeating Lovino in "combat" with their wooden swords. He never noticed Lovino's sad green eyes or deepening frowns. _

_He was confused when Lovino stopped playing with him._

* * *

_Smoke. Smoke was rising over the city, Feliciano saw from his chamber's windows. He watched as dark clouds filled the warm air, and even from a great distance, Feliciano could smell the tinges of ash and…something else. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the screams and shouts of men and women. But they weren't like the ones he heard on Bread & Circus day. They were the shouts and screams of spectators, or even people in the crowded market place. They were…of terror. _

_By midday, there was more and more smoke rising and the screams were becoming louder and louder. The servants were fidgeting and worried looking. Grandpa Rome was barricaded in his office, Lovino was huddled under the blankets of his bed, coughing up a storm since this morning and complaining of a head ache. Feliciano felt a dull throbbing in his gut, but still sat in the windowsill and watched as the city began to fall apart in a sickening sense of awe._

* * *

_It all started with a servant girl's scream, and then, before Feliciano knew it, he was being ushered out of villa by the servants, who were in a panic. As he and a few handmaidens ran out of villa, he briefly turned around to see what was going on. What he saw made his little heart skip a beat. The villa was smoking like the city, men with golden blond hair he distantly remembered were ravaging the place. He caught sight of Lovino fleeing in a separate direction. He was being dragged along by someone—Grandpa Rome, Feliciano thought. They were going in another direction from Feliciano and the maidens. Where were they going? Feliciano thought frantically. _

_Feliciano tried to call out to them, but the handmaidens dragged him away, forcing him to run away with them away from the bloodbath taking place in what was once his home. They ran down the hill into the city streets, right into the fray. Smoke, blood, and screams engulfed Feliciano's reality. Before long, Feliciano was alone, having lost the handmaidens. He ran and he ran. He ran away._

* * *

_Everything hurt. Everything! And he didn't know why. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, as if he was on fire! Feliciano let out a wail as he ran through the streets of Rome, not that anyone paid him any mind. The city was in ruins—people were rioting as the city was sacked by Germanic barbarians, and all Feliciano could do was run. He ran and ran, not sure where he was going. All he knew was fear and pain, and he couldn't even understand why he was in such immense pain. He had not been injured, as far as he knew. _

_Feliciano cried for his Fratello, or his Grandfather, for his nannies and maids. Feliciano cried and ran through the burning streets of Rome until finally, he could cry and run no longer and the small boy collapsed to the ground, exhausted. He made no move to crawl away; he simply lay there, as if ready to die. He was a pathetic sight, and one citizen took pity on the seemingly half-dead child and dragged him over to the side of the street, so he at least wouldn't be trampled by the throngs of people in hysteria in the streets. _

_The poor boy eventually fell unconscious, and when he awoke later that night, the city was still just as chaotic. Only one thing seemed to have changed. Someone was holding him—and not in a caring, loving manner like his grandfather and nanny did. No, this person was roughly gripping his shoulders, forcing him to his feet and shaking him awake. Feliciano looked up fearfully to see one of Germania's elder sons, Wolfgang, glaring down at him. The older boy—no, Wolfgang was no longer a boy, he was a nation; he was Saxon—looked like a young Germania, and he was as scary as Germania, too. _

_Feliciano trembled with fear in Saxon's grip. "S-Saxon?" He whimpered. Saxon's only response was to heft Feliciano over his shoulder and say, "You're coming with me." That was when Feliciano began to panic. He began kicking and screaming and crying again, begging Saxon to let him go. But he did not; he whacked him on the head instead, telling him to shut up. "W-Why a-are you do-oing this?!" Feliciano shrieked as Saxon carried him though the blood drenched streets of Feliciano's childhood home town, his Grandfather's capital. Where was Grandpa anyway? _

_Saxon huffed and grumbled, "You are the personification of Northern Italy, now. For that reason, I must take you captive if I want to dominate your land." Feliciano let out a fresh round of wails, fear and horror wreaking havoc on his little mind and body. No, no, he thought. I'm not a nation. Grandpa is! Grandpa is! Feliciano struggled helplessly in Saxon's grip and cried for help. No one came to his aid. Not Francis or Antonio, who had returned to their mother's lands and soon after replaced them there. Not for Derick, who he was sure was up north, with his father, Germania's people. Traitor. Not Lovino, who he had been separated from when they fled their childhood home, Grandpa's villa, as it was burned to the ground. Feliciano wondered where he was now. He had been with Grandpa when they had been separated; he hoped Grandpa had gotten him to safety. Grandpa…Feliciano feared the worst. _

_Eventually, Saxon brought Feliciano before a gang of barbarians, and there he dropped him to his feet. Feliciano froze in fear as he stood before the barbarians. They were so scary. Their odd blond hair and clothes, covered in the blood of Romans, glaring at him. He whimpered when one familiar Germanic stepped forward. He was tall, with long silvery and blond hair, and green eyes. He was the embodiment of the Germanic culture; from his appearance to the way he carried his self. He was Germania. _

_Feliciano expected him to glare at him like the others, and he whimpered when Germania knelt down to eye-level with him. To his surprise, Germania did not glare. He frowned, yes, as per usual of him. But his eyes were…pitying and…guilty. Feliciano met Germania's gaze timidly. He flinched when Germania laid his hand on the top of his head, as if trying to comfort him. _

"_Your grandfather is dead, Feliciano. I…" He paused, and his face was pained. "I'm sorry." He finished. _

_Feliciano gaped. He stared at Germania in horror, frozen in shock now instead of fear. And then, something in him snapped. Feliciano threw himself at Germania and his tiny fists went flying. He didn't do much damage physically, but clearly his angry cries and screams surprised those around him. Saxon snatched him up from behind, restraining him, but Feliciano continued to struggled, desperately trying to get at Germania. _

"_Y-You traitor! You—you b-bastard!" Feliciano screamed. Germania didn't even wince at his words. He only looked at him like the sad little boy he was and wouldn't be for much longer. "It had to be done." Was his only reply. Feliciano gave a pained wail at his words. "Why? Why did it have to be done!?" He shouted, tears and snot dripping down his face. Germania gave him the cold hard truth. "Because we are _nations_, Feliciano. You are a nation, too, now. So get used to it, because your days as an innocent child are over. There is no innocence in being a nation." Feliciano ceased his struggling in Saxon's grip, and his cried became quite whimpers._

_With a sigh of relief, Saxon made the wrong decision and loosened his grip on Feliciano. The boy—no, he was a nation now—slipped from his grip and took off running. He heard the Germanic shout behind him and some even begin to take off after him, but before long, he could feel he wasn't being followed. So he ran like he had before, when all hell had broken loose. He ran and ran and ran. Until finally, he came to a place he felt safe. A temple._

_He climbed the steps and raced inside to find he wasn't the only one there. Many children, women, and a few cowardly men were around, praying, crying, and sleeping. None paid him any mind as he entered. He looked no worse or better than any of them with his dirty chiton and face. The only thing that made him any different from them outwardly was the purple he wore, signaling he was part of the nobility. _

_Feliciano felt in familiar presence in the temple, and at the alter, he found whom it was. _

_Lovino, the brother he had only met a few days ago. He looked as bad as Feliciano. He was a sobbing mess, Feliciano noticed as he sat down beside him. Lovino looked up as he felt Feliciano laid his hands on his shoulders. "T-They killed him. I-I saw it…those German bastards killed him!" Lovino wailed, pulling Feliciano into an embrace. Feliciano wrapped his arms around his brother and began to cry as well._

* * *

Romano sat his brother's bedside, wondering what he was dreaming. Veneziano was having a rather fitful sleep it seemed. He was tempted to wake him, but thought it best not to. Instead, he lied down on his own cot, next to Veneziano's and closed his eyes. He hadn't slept in almost two days, not since that soldier had rudely awakened him and Veneziano from their nap. Within minutes, he was sound asleep, a rare smile plastered on his face.

* * *

"_Can I hold him? Can I, Grandpa?" Little Lovino begged as he struggled to stand on his tippy-toes to look over the edge of the crib and down at his baby brother. He was so tiny, Lovino thought. Nearby, the nursemaids giggled while Grandpa boomed a laugh. "You're too small, Lovino." He chastised. Lovino gave a pout. "No, I'm not!" He protested and crossed his arms. Grandpa and the nursemaids laughed some more, and even his baby brother giggled. Lovino couldn't fight down a tiny little smile._

* * *

"_Faster, Tonio! Faster!" Lovino shouted through a fit of giggles. Antonio replied by running a little faster as he piggy-backed Lovino around the gardens. When they reached the fountain, Antonio let Lovino off his back and sat him down on the edge of the fountain. "That was fun, Tonio! Let's do it, again!" Lovino cheered. "A little later, okay, Lovi?" Antonio replied, clearly tired. Lovino nodded his head and thanked Antonio for playing with him. "I'll play with you anytime you want, Lovi! I promise!" Antonio grinned. "Maybe someday we can play with baby Feli, too!" He added._

_An odd sense of jealousy overtook Lovino in that moment. He found himself running off, and Antonio's pleas to come back did not reach his ears._

* * *

_The south was nice. The people were nice. Everything about it was nice, Lovino thought. It felt like home. But nothing could dull the heartbreak he felt, being sent away from the villa. Grandpa said it was for the best, but Lovino didn't understand why. He wondered what it was like back at the villa, with Grandpa and Antonio…and Feli…_

* * *

_Grandpa broke his promise again. He promised to visit Romano soon, when the crops came in. But now the crops had come in, been harvested, and been sold and devoured for a long time and grandpa was no where to be found. Lovino was disappointed, but not for the first time. It had been years since he had seen grandpa. Soon it would be a decade. Lovino wondered if he was blessing Feliciano with visits rather than him._

_He was sure he was._

* * *

_His tutor, Claude, was frustrated with him again. So much so, he kicked Lovino out of his lessons for the rest of the day, shouting obscenities. Claude shouted obscenities all the time. One time, Lovino had tried yelling obscenities like Claude, but his nanny, Drusilla, had smacked him. So instead, Lovino grumbled the obscenities under his breath when she wasn't paying attention—like Claude did when Drusilla smacked him, too. Drusilla liked smacking people a lot, Lovino noticed. Especially Claude in the middle of the night, if the noises he heard coming from her room were any indication. Claude _really _liked yelling obscenities then. _

_Lovino, free of his lessons, decided to run around the orchards with the younger servants. It was fun. The other boys and girls were nice, and Lovino would be sad to see them gone in a few years, when they would be fired or suddenly moved to a different household in order to protect the secret of the nations. Lovino would especially miss one girl named Bella. She had deep olive skin, big green eyes, and long dark hair. She was smiley and cheery. She was bright like the sun. _

_She made Lovino wonder if this was the thing called love that Grandpa used to talk about all the time._

* * *

_A plague came suddenly, sweeping over Lovino's household. First it took Drusilla, and then it took Claude, and along with several of Lovino's friends and servants, Bella went. When it died off, Lovino's household was nearly barren, and Lovino never felt more alone. It took weeks for the household to be refilled with new servants. But even then, it was…still empty._

* * *

_Finally, Grandpa was bringing him back home! The letter was a God's send! Grandpa really did love him. He wanted him back. He wanted him back home for the first time in two hundred years. Lovino was so happy, if he could, he would have died. Even better, he would finally see Feli, again! Lovino was so happy, not a single ill thought plagued his mind for the weeks leading up to his trip to Rome._

* * *

_Feliciano was as cute and practically as small as the day he left the villa. Lovino found himself automatically fond of his little brother. Shyly, Feliciano introduced himself in a formal manner. It was cute, Lovino thought. He returned the handshake and smiled at Feli, genuinely happy to finally be meeting him. Feli's smile promised a bright future for their relationship._

* * *

_Grandpa loved Feli more. That much was apparent within a few days of their arrival at the villa. Grandpa doted and fawned over Feli while he gave Lovino little to no attention whatsoever. Lovino found his self more and more averse then playing with Feli, despite his pleas. It would only mean more being compared to Grandpa's precious Feliciano. Lovino soon stopped playing with Feli all together._

* * *

_His head began to hurt last one night. It hurt so badly, he stayed in bed all the next day, in too much pain to ask about the smoke he smelled in the air and made his eyes water. In the distance, he could have sworn he heard screams. Was it Bread & Circus day? Lovino did his best to ignore it, however. He never much liked Bread & Circus day. Watching a lion rip out a gladiator's throat was more of Grandpa Rome and, from what he heard, Feliciano's thing when he was younger. _

_Lovino did his best to sleep. But he couldn't. He could feel something…something bad was just beyond the horizon—no, not even that far. It was rising over the horizon like the sun, and as the day went by, the higher that ominous feeling rose as well._

* * *

_A handmaiden screeched so loudly that it seemed the entire villa heard and froze at the sound. Then, panic erupted. Lovino could hear it all in the hallways. Thundering foot falls and shouts and screams of terror and bloodlust. Then it all spilled into Lovino's room. Lovino sat up in bed, terrified, but relief flooded his being at the sight of Grandpa Rome, who plucked him out of bed and hurriedly dragged him along, through the halls and out of the villa. Lovino was horrified to see the villa ablaze like the city of Rome. But he had little time to react, as Grandpa Rome hauled him away to safety, he hoped. _

_Grandpa Rome and Lovino ran for a long time, everything in a blur for Lovino as he struggled to keep up. They entered a building, and empty of all but the slaughtered citizens that lay about the floor, their blood painting the marble red. Grandpa Rome tossed Lovino a little too roughly into an alcove and then looking down upon him grimly and seriously, ordered, "Be quiet. Don't make a sound. No matter what happens. Don't move or say anything until I come back for you…and if I don't…" Grandpa bit his lip, and Lovino swore he saw tears in his eyes. "Te amo, Lovino. Te amo…Take care of Feli, okay…" _

_And then he was gone. He drew some curtains and everything went dark. Lovino sat in a corner of the alcove, shivering, but biting his lip so not to make a sound. It was agonizingly silent beyond the curtain. And then, he heard the heavy doors of the building burst open, banging against the stone walls as they were forced open. A stampede of footsteps followed, along with guttural language Lovino could not understand. One guttural voice he understood oddly even though it didn't sound as if he were speaking Latin, Lovino's native tongue, though the accent was similar to those of the Barbarian speakers. _

_There was a sudden clash of swords and Lovino flinched. Then another and another, and when he heard his grandpa give a grunt of pain, Lovino shut his eyes tightly and covered his ear, though it was futile. It seemed as if the clash of swords went on forever. Lovino's eyes snapped open again at the loud sound of the curtain being torn down. As the curtain fell, so did Rome, and suddenly, Lovino found his grandpa's corpse at his feet. _

"_Grandpa…" Lovino stammered, crouching down next to him and gently shaking his shoulder, as if to wake him. Of course, he didn't. "Grandpa, no. No. You can't!" Lovino cried angrily. "You aren't allowed to die! You're a great an empire! You can't die! You can't leave me again! You can't! You can't, you bastard!" Lovino screamed, banging his tiny fists against his grandfather's chest. _

_Lovino ceased his hitting as someone grabbed him by the back of chiton. Instead, he started to struggle to get away. "Let go! Let go, bastard!" He shouted. He twisted to try and get away, but his captor grabbed his arms and forced him to face him. Lovino froze. "You!" Lovino spat. Germania simply looked down at the young boy with indifference, despite the venom in his voice. He picked Lovino up without a word and threw the struggling boy over his shoulder, Lovino kicking and punching him as he walked out of the building. _

_Lovino was persistent, however, and Germania was forced to often change how he held him to keep him in his grip. Soon he was cradling the still struggling boy against his chest, his wrists clamped together in one hand and his knees locked in the corner of his elbow. Lovino could hardly move in this position, but he could do one thing. He spat in Germania's face. The barbarian growled and glared at the boy in his arms. _

_To Lovino's surprise, Germania suddenly put him down, through he kept a vice grip on his arm. Germania crouched down before him and met him eye-to-eye. Lovino froze with fear. Germania stared him down for several moments and Lovino trembled under his gaze. But then Germania sighed and released him. "Just go." He said and then walked away, disappearing into the rioting crowds around them. Lovino stood there, and oddly, he felt rejected. _

_Hours later, he found his self at the Alter of a church, crying, and then his brother showed up, and they cried together. That was one of the last times they'd see each other before going their separate ways; Romano to the south and Veneziano to the north._

* * *

Prussia awoke with a splitting headache and handcuffed to a bedpost, only not the way he would have liked. After all, rather than sexy nurse by his beside he found an armed, very male, very hairy guard, who was asleep and drooling like a St. Bernard. He looked about ready to keel over out of his chair and right on top on Prussia. Go to your happy place, Prussia, he told his self. Go to your happy place, bitch-slap Austria for getting him into this mess in the first place, and keep calm.

He tested the handcuffs but only succeeded in rubbing his wrists raw and red. Prussia knew there was no way of escape within reason. He'd just have to wait until the Italies came for him. Until then, Prussia resigned his self to try and sleep. Thankfully, his guard's snoring doubled as white noise.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, in the city of Berlin, in a small apartment, two children were scurrying around the room, hurriedly packing a duffle bag. A girl with long dark hair and blue eyes grinned widely as she rifled through a bureau. "I wonder what we should pack. I know that the house they live in currently is just south of here, but it's in the countryside." The girl chattered on, clearly not noticing the blond boy who was carefully folding clothes on the bed was not paying attention. Until she asked, "Hey, Berlin, should I pack the dress my Vater bought me for my birthday or not?" and he did not answer, not even when she asked two more times.

_Pow!_

"Ouch!" Berlin shouted in pain as the girl's shoe collided with the back of his head. "Where do you get off hitting me with a shoe? That hurt, Verdammit!" Berlin shouted at the girl. "Answer me when I speak!" The girl shouted. "Oh yeah?" The boy challenged. "Yeah!" The girl shouted back, rising to his challenge.

Suddenly, stomping footsteps could be heard approaching the room. The children gasped and rushed to close the bureau drawers and the closet door. The boy threw the duffle bag under the bed and the girl quickly threw a blanket over the clothes folded of the bed to hide them. They then quickly sat down on their individual beds and fidgeted until the bedroom door slammed open and a soldier entered the room.

"What did I say about fighting?" He barked. The children cowered back. "Not to, sir." The boy whimpered. The soldier glared at him briefly and then turned on the girl, who had remained quiet. "And you? What did I say about hitting Berlin?" He shouted. The girl was quiet for a moment and then quietly answered, "Not to, sir." The soldier's nostrils flared. "Then why were you fighting?" He asked in a low, but gruff and scary voice brimming with barely contained rage. The children remained quiet too long and the soldier exploded. "If I hear a peep out of you two for the rest of the night guarding this damned apartment, I swear Sergeant Wagner will come here tomorrow morning and find the walls smeared in your blood!" The children barely bit back their shrieks at his sudden outburst, but nodded all the same, and watched as the soldier left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

A few moments passed before either moved, the girl hesitantly standing up and the boy pulling his legs up to his chest. "I really hate him." The boy said quietly. The girl nodded her agreement. "I like Sergeant Wagner better. I wish we could say goodbye to him before we leave." The girl said. "Me, too, but at least be can leave knowing that it will be that Sergeant Hoffman who gets the blame for our escape." The boy said with a little mischievous grin which the girl returned.

The children then returned to their packing and did so as quietly as possible. Sergeant Hoffman would not hesitate to strike them, even if they were, as far as he knew, just children. In under an hour, they had two bags packed for their journey; duffle bag and a drawstring rucksack of clothes, as they intended to stay a while at their destination. As for food and money, the girl and boy had enough saved up pocket money between them they thought to get them there and as for food…

"Is Hoffman asleep yet?" The girl asked as the boy bravely peaked through the door. Down the hall, he could see Hoffman passed out in the armchair by the radio, which was blaring that day's news of the war effort. Hoffman was drooling. Like a dog. The boy fought down a laugh. "Like a baby." The boy replied. "A big, fat, hairy baby, you mean." The girl corrected. This time, the boy did laugh, the girl joining in.

The two children crept out of the bedroom and into the hallway, their bags slung over their backs. The tip-toed down the hall, past Hoffman, and into the kitchen. The girl opened the fridge while the boy opened the duffle bag. The girl then stuffed as much food as possible inside; few bottles of milk and cans of vegetables, and a few loaves of bread for the road. When they felt they had enough, they exited the kitchen and tiptoed down the hall to the foyer of the apartment.

There was what seemed like a thousand locks on the door. Chains, deadbolts, even a pad lock, along with the standard lock in the door. As quietly as possible, the children began to unlock each and every one until only the padlock remained. "Hoffman probably has the key," The girl groaned. "Which one of is going to get it?" The boy asked just as miserably. "Not me." The girl replied with a scoff. No way was she ever going to go rummaging around in that man's pockets for the key. Not again, at least. "Why me?" The boy asked. "Because when we sneaked out to that one underground swing club a couple months ago, I was the one who got the key." The girl shot back. "You also got us busted! Everyone in the club got arrested thanks to you!" The boy retorted. "Thanks to us, Berlin!" The girl corrected. The boy, Berlin, growled with frustration, but nonetheless tiptoed back down the hall, into the living room where Hoffman slept.

The girl waited patiently by the door for several moments, impatiently shifting her weight from foot to foot, and after several long minutes, let out a growl of frustration. She was just about to stomp down the hall and see what was taking so long when suddenly, she heard a scream. Berlin's scream for help: "Brandenburg! Brandy!" The girl, Brandenburg, raced down the hall into the living room to see Hoffman awake and holding Berlin by his collar of his shirt. Brandenburg could already see a bruise forming on Berlin's cheek, however.

"Put him down!" The girl screamed. Hoffman snarled at her. "What the hell are you two little punks up to now?!" He growled. "Trying to runaway now are ya? What are ya trying to do? Get me executed?" He shouted, practically foaming at the mouth. Berlin was quaking with fear, as was Brandenburg. "P-put him down! Please!" Brandenburg begged. Hoffman glared at her but dropped Berlin to the floor nonetheless.

Just when Brandenburg and Berlin let out a sigh of relief, however, Hoffman drove his foot into Berlin's gut. "Berlin!" Brandenburg shrieked. Hoffman grabbed Berlin again and threw him against the wall. "Both of you will go to your room right now or so help me I will use this!" Hoffman growled as he motioned the gun at his hip. Trembling, Berlin got up and Brandenburg backed away. They exchanged a look and both knew what to do.

Brandenburg took a deep breath and stood with her chin held high. "No." She answered defiantly. "What?" Hoffman growled. "We won't." Berlin said stubbornly. Hoffman looked at the children as if they were insane. "You think I'm kidding? I'm not! I will shoot you if you aren't in your room within the next ten seconds." Both children stood firm. Hoffman pulled out his gun and began counting backwards from ten. "10…9…8…" Still, the children stood firm and Hoffman's resolve began to crumble. "5…4…" But he wouldn't go back on his word, he thought. He couldn't let these kids make a fool of him. "2…1…0…"

_Bang!_

Berlin crumpled to the floor, and beside him, Brandenburg began to tremble, but she did not scream and bravely met Hoffman's eye. His scared blue eyes met hers as he fired his gun and sent a bullet into her chest. She fell to the ground beside Berlin and their blood began to pool around them.

Hoffman fell to his knees, his actions finally dawning upon him as the children's blood stained the wooden floor. "Oh God…" He whimpered hoarsely. His superiors, they would have been executed for this. Wagner would arrive in the morning and see the kids were dead. Even if he hid the bodies, the disappearance of the children under his watch would be enough cause to have him sent away to one of the camps. "Oh God, Oh God…" He was going to die. He had just condemned himself to die in, most likely, a horrible, gruesome fashion.

Hoffman brought the barrel of his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

A few moments later, when the echo of that final shot began to fade, Berlin's body twitched and the blond haired boy sat up, coughing on blood raggedly, but otherwise, fine. Brandenburg sat up a moment later, coughing as well. Both of them stood after a few moments and looked down upon Hoffman's body with disgust. "I thought he would just runaway." Berlin commented, turning away from the ugly sight. Brandenburg gagged when she first looked at it and quickly turned away as well. "Let's just grab the key and get out of here…and maybe change our clothes, too." She commented as she looked down at her now bloodstained dress. Berlin nodded his agreement.

A few hours later, the children arrived city limit. A few guards were stationed at the road leading out of the city. Berlin and Brandenburg approached cautiously, quietly, holding hands like innocent little twelve year olds. The guards eyed them suspiciously as the came to stand before them. "Papers?" One asked. Berlin presented their papers from his pocket. The guard took them and examined them, eyes flicking back and forth between the children and the papers.

"Annaliese Beilschmidt, age twelve?" The guard asked. Brandenburg nodded.

"And Bruno Beilschmidt, age thirteen?" The guard asked. Berlin nodded.

"Business?" The guard asked. Berlin and Brandenburg exchanged a look.

"We're visiting family in the south." Berlin answered.

"In the middle of the night?" The guard asked with a raised eyebrow.

Nervously, Brandenburg replied, "What other time would one flee a troubled home?"

The guards' eyes flicked to each other and from the children. Sympathy lurked there.

"You may pass." The guard said, handing back their papers. "I hope you find refuge with your family in the south, children." The guard added. The children nodded and smiled as they practically skipped down the road leading away from the capital.

For the first time in a long time, they felt free.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was fun to write the angsty pasts of the Italy brothers!**

**It wasn't all fun and games for them after all!**

**Please review by the way! It motivates me to write more!**


	19. Chapter 19

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 19: The Risorgimento Part 1

* * *

Two weeks had passed since his capture and Prussia had yet to be questioned. The albino wondered what the hold up was. Surely the Italies knew that they could get vital information out of him. Were they waiting on the Allies to show up or something? Of all the times Prussia had been captured and held prisoner in his life, this was by far the strangest experience he had had. The Italies didn't even treat him like a prisoner—aside from the handcuffs.

He stayed in their home in Florence, in his own room with a comfy bed, his own bathroom, and they even let him have Gilbird back. The food was great and the maids were very cute, too! Prussia sometimes felt like he was staying in a hotel that just so happened to have an armed guard stationed outside his door and bars on his bedroom windows. They even gave Prussia fresh clothes—civilian attire—to wear since his uniform was ruined during their little skirmish. Prussia wondered if all Italian prisoners were treated as well as him once, but he knew that they only treated him this well because they were both nations and if it was up to Romano, he'd probably be in a real prison at the moment.

"What's taking those pasta-heads so long, Gilbird?" Prussia asked his little pet bird who sat on his head as he reclined on his bed. Gilbird simply chirped happily. Prussia sighed and closed his eyes, hoping to take a nap. There wasn't much else to do when he was cooped up in his room most of the day. They only let him out every once in a while to visit the library downstairs or listen to the radio in the lounge. His eyes snapped open at the sound of his bedroom door practically slamming open.

Prussia sat up to see Romano stomping into the room, Veneziano right behind him, looking far more uncomfortable than his brother, who was putting on stern face. Veneziano avoided eye-contact with Prussia at all cost, instead finding one of the paintings hung up on the wall very interesting. "All right Potato Bastard, get up! We have some questions for you!" Romano barked. Prussia sighed exasperatedly and got up. "Finally! What took you so long?" He asked. Romano glared at him before stomping out of the room, Veneziano hesitantly following after. A guard entered the room as they left and handcuffed Prussia before leading him out of the room.

* * *

"Okay, Prussia, you are going to answer our questions and then maybe we'll consider letting go!" Romano shouted as he slammed his fist down on the table between him and the albino. Prussia stared at him blankly. Romano wasn't all that convincing of a "bad cop". But even now with most of his memories back Prussia severely doubted that Veneziano could do much better. It could be seen plainly by how he awkwardly stood by the door, leant against the wall, avoiding eye contact. He looked like he would rather not be in the room at the moment.

"Are you listening?" Romano shouted in outrage as he noticed Prussia's on his brother standing behind him rather than on him, his interrogator. Prussia's eyes met Romano's again. The nation sighed and simply shrugged. "I was drifting in and out. What was that last part?" He asked. Romano was starting to turn that special tomato red he got when he was mad or embarrassed or both. He probably was biting back a million curses because it took him a moment to ground out his next words through his teeth. "What are the Axis' plans? Will they continue and try and invade or will they simply try and hold the boarders?" After a beat, Prussia responded in a flat tone, "No clue."

Romano flipped the table.

"You got to be kidding me!?" Romano screamed, along with several curses. "How do you not know? You're part of the Axis—literally!" Romano growled as he took the flipping the table fit of rage a step further and threw his chair at the wall, breaking it. Behind him, his brother looked on with bewilderment. Prussia looked on at the older Italian and stated aloud just what he and probably many others before him thought. "What the table flipping f*ck has your speedo in a twist, you tomato-crazed Mediterranean grouch?" Romano ceased his cursing, Veneziano froze just as he was about to reach the door knob and escape this fiasco, and Prussia bit his tongue. Romano's face flushed red and he clenched his fists tightly, his nostrils flared, his eyes dilated, "Oh Crap…" Prussia and Veneziano both thought aloud.

* * *

"And here I thought Hungary was just exaggerating when she said you had no filter," Veneziano mumbled as he applied yet another Band-Aid to Prussia's bruised and cut up face. The albino simply snorted a laugh and replied, "I was just saying what everyone else has been thinking for the past thousand years." He hissed as Veneziano dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against a cut on his temple. Prussia had a lot of cuts on his face from his and Romano's little fight. Most of which were caused by Romano smashing Prussia's face right into the two-way mirror in the interrogation room. Those interns observing the interrogation were going to need therapy.

After Veneziano and several guards managed to pull Prussia and Romano apart, Veneziano and a few guards had escorted Prussia back to his room while Romano went to cool off in his office. Everyone in the manner could smell him 'cooling off', too. "Your brother sure likes cigars, doesn't he?" Prussia asked off-handedly as the smell of smoke drifted into his bedroom. Both Prussia and Veneziano wrinkled their noses. "Yes, he does. They calm his nerves, he says." Veneziano replied. Beside him, Prussia nodded his head. "Do you still smoke?" Prussia asked casually. Veneziano looked at him with surprise. "How did you—?!" Veneziano squeaked, his face flushing bright red. Prussia grinned at him wickedly and chuckled. "Who do you think got you started?" He asked with a wink. Veneziano gaped at him in shock, but nonetheless found the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

"You ass!" Veneziano laughed. Prussia's chuckles erupted into hysterical laughter, earning him a punch in the arm from Veneziano. "It took me forever to quit!" He shouted through his laughs. Prussia simply laughed harder and rolled over on the bed and grabbed a pillow to shield his self from Veneziano's light-hearted blows. Even as he threw punches at his prisoner/enemy, Veneziano laughed and smiled, feeling genuinely happy. But eventually the laughter ceased and a somberness settled over the two of them and they sat together awkwardly on Prussia's bed, the only noise filling the silence between them being Gilbird's happy chirping from his cage.

Prussia audibly gulped and nervously said, "Sorry about getting you started on smoking." Veneziano nervously laughed and replied, "No problem. I've quit now so it's no big deal." A silence passed between them until Prussia suddenly started sniggering. "What?" Veneziano asked. Prussia didn't answer. He simply avoided eye contact with Veneziano. "What?" Veneziano asked more impatiently. Again, Prussia didn't answer and his sniggering became louder. "What's so funny?" Veneziano asked with irritation. Prussia started full on giggling. Veneziano smacked him with a pillow. "Fine," Prussia sighed glumly but then his face glowed with a smile. "It's just…I remember when you lit up for the first time. You coughed like you had the plague—" "Don't joke about the plague, Prussia! You know how I feel about the plague!" "Whatever! Anyways, you practically coughed up a lung and you puked up like a ton of half-digested pasta. You vowed never to smoke again. But what do you know! Right after the battle I found you lighting up again and coughing up your other lung!" Prussia told the story with a laugh, but Veneziano did not join in. He looked at the Prussian with his eyebrows knitted tightly together and him mouth in a firm line.

"What battle?" He asked, and Prussia froze.

* * *

Simon looked on curiously as Miss Hedervary and the two children whom had arrived at the manner earlier that day sat together around the kitchen island and spoke in hushed tones. Simon didn't know what was going on really. All he knew was when he awoke that morning, two dirty children were in the foyer having a screaming match with Miss Hedervary. Okay one of the children, the girl, was having a screaming match with Miss Hedervary. All right, not a screaming match; more along the lines the girl was in hysterics and Miss Hedervary was trying to calm her down. Simon still remembered how shocked he has been when the children had revealed who they were.

"What do you mean he was captured!?" The girl cried, her face red and wet with tears. Miss Hedervary attempted to hush her up gently and murmured comforting words to her, but the girl was inconsolable. "How could my father be captured!? What happened? What about uncle?" The girl questioned as snot began to drip down her nose. Beside her, the boy tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder and whisper something to her. She shrugged him off and her voice raised a few octaves as she cried. "Annaliese, please calm down! Let's just sit down with some tea and we'll talk about this." Miss Hedervary pleaded as she guided the girl and the boy down the hall towards the kitchen, leaving Simon standing dumbstruck in foyer.

Captain Beilschmidt had a daughter? He wondered. It seemed almost unreal. Simon had never imagined the strange silver haired man with a woman let alone with a family. The girl didn't even look all that much like Captain Beilschmidt. The boy didn't either—he assumed the boy might be the girl's brother—he looked more like the other Captain Beilschmidt. The girl had long black hair and big blue eyes. She looked no older than twelve or thirteen, as did the boy, who was blond and blue eyed. Captain Beilschmidt must have had had children young then, Simon guessed, as he was pretty sure Captain Beilschmidt, Miss Hedervary, and Captain Edelstein were all under thirty. It just seemed so odd to Simon, as well as the other guards. It raised so many questions. Like why the children were there in the first place?

"Excuse me?" Simon whirled around in surprise.

"How long have I been asleep?" asked Captain Ludwig Beilschmidt.

* * *

"I'll ask you again, Prussia, what battle?" Veneziano asked determinedly. Prussia avoided eye contact as he replied yet again, "I'm not telling you." "It's my past! I have a right to know what happened!" Veneziano said, glaring at his old friend. Prussia simply rolled his eyes. "It's better you don't know!" He said. "It seems the more you're told or remember of your past, the worse this situation gets!" Prussia explained. Veneziano was not buying. "I need to know! I need to find out now what happened to me and my country back then if I wish to move forward as a nation, Prussia!" He shouted. Prussia looked at him with surprise and finally met his eyes. Veneziano calmed down a little and then continued on, this time more quiet and calmer, "I need to know that what I'm doing now is the right choice." A moment of silence passed between the nations before Prussia sighed heavily and nodded his head.

"I don't know what made you start your war for independence, I'm telling you that up front. You never bothered to give me the details or tell me your motives. At the time, I didn't really care. I was especially pissed off at Austria at the time and decided to get back at him and Hungary by helping you become independent. I came to your aid, helped train you and your brother's forces, and together we all kicked Austria's ass." Prussia's mouth twitched up into a smile as he added, "I think that's when we really became friends. Before then, I couldn't really have cared less about you or your brother. But you just reminded me so much…" He trailed off and Veneziano wished to hear the end of that sentence, but he never did. Instead, Prussia swallowed and continued on, "I don't know why exactly you wanted independence so badly all of a sudden. But I do know that by the time I came around and helped you, you had been trying for the better part of the century to get it." Veneziano tilted his head in confusion. "Really?" He asked. Prussia nodded his head. "Really." Veneziano bit his lip then and a flush spread over his features. "What took so long for me and Romano to get it?" He asked.

Prussia laughed and patted the younger nation on the back. "Don't be so embarrassed! Not everyone has America's luck when it comes to gaining independence, Italy, and even he needed help. From me, might I add!" Prussia stated self-righteously. He was clearly very proud of his self for helping so many young nations get their independence from the other world super powers. Veneziano couldn't help but smile. "Okay, but what took so long, really?" Veneziano asked again. Prussia stopped and thought aloud, "Well, a lot of things I guess. I know you and your brother weren't really good at the whole 'united-front' thing. You weren't organized or very strong, either at the time. And let's just say that by the time I came around, Austria had really tightened his leash, especially after all those other failed wars and rebellions." "Were there a lot of failed wars and rebellions?" Veneziano asked sheepishly. Prussia laughed lightly and nodded his head. "You may have the eyes of a hawk when it comes to shooting arrows and guns, but you sucked at war back then, Italy. You sucked really, really hard." Veneziano felt disappointed at Prussia's words, but really what else would he expect from his younger self.

It was Prussia's hardy laughter that Veneziano found surprising. Was it really so funny that he could not for the life of him when a war on his own? Prussia, however, patted Veneziano on the back and smiled at him as his laughter calmed. "But what you lacked in skill, I guess you made up for with fire. Even when Austria crushed your rebellion under the heels of his boots, you still got right back up and kept fighting. You had balls, Italy. You still do." Prussia said with a crooked grin. Veneziano smiled brightly at him in return. "How about I finally tell you the story of what happened back then?" Prussia asked, as if he needed to. "Please do!" Veneziano answered gleefully, and with that, Prussia began his tale, "It all started after word got out you had ran away from Austria's house yet again…"

* * *

**A/N: Recap!**

**The Kids, Brandenburg and Berlin, have shown up at Germany's house! And Brandenburg is revealed to be Prussia's daughter! As if that wasn't obvious!**

**But why is she named Brandenburg and who is her mother?!**

**Meanwhile…**

**Germany is finally awake! But does he remember what happened?!**

**And down south in Italy's House, Prussia and Italy bond and finally we get to learn what happened all those years ago! Tune in Next Time to see what Happened!**

**Please Review! **


	20. Chapter 20

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 20: The Risorgimento Part 2

* * *

"It all started after word got out you had ran away from Austria's house yet again…"

"_The Latin Brat did it, again!" Bavaria announced as he fell right into the sofa in Prussia's office. Following him into the room, Hesse and Saxony settled in the wingback chair by the fireplace and on the couch next to Bavaria respectively. Prussia his self was sitting in behind his desk, a pile of paperwork in front of him, his white cloves smudged with black ink. He was always forgetting to take them off before beginning his work. "Who did what again?" Prussia asked, never taking his eyes off the paper in front of him. Must have been something pretty important, because he had on one of his rare serious expressions. Lately, Prussia had been wearing his serious expression more often. _

"_North Italy. He ran away from Austria's house yet again." Bavaria repeated. Every Germanic in the room let out a collective sigh of aggravation. "What is this, his third time running away in the last century?" Saxony asked. "Bet you Austria drags him back home in less than six months." Hesse said. "Bet what?" Saxony asked, taking it as a serious offer. "I'll buy your beer every time we go out drinking together for the next decade." Hesse replied. "Deal." Saxony agreed, getting up and crossing the room to shake on it with his brother. "Hey," Saxony asked, turning to Prussia, "You want in on the action?" He asked. Prussia didn't even look up as he shook his head. His brothers all sighed. _

_Bavaria got up and came to stand behind Prussia. He laid a hand on his shoulder and forced his chair to turn to face him. "Listen, Prussia, you need to do something besides coop yourself up in your office. When was the last time you went out with us and got a drink?" Bavaria asked. Prussia remained silent and avoided his brother's gaze. "Come on," Bavaria urged with a playful grin. "We haven't had a boy's night out since that son of a bitch Napoleon died!" The corners of Prussia's lips began to twitch. "Yeah! Let's all go out!" Hesse interjected. "Here, here!" Saxony exclaimed and both he and Hesse burst out in fits of laughter. Bavaria grinned down at Prussia. "Your outnumbered, little brother." He informed. Prussia grinned up at him and stood up from his chair. "All right! All right! For once, the mighty Prussia concedes to defeat!" Prussia exclaimed with a huge grin. His brothers all cheered._

* * *

Veneziano felt his eyebrow twitch. "I thought you were going to tell me about the Resigormento?" He asked through gritted teeth. "Yes, I did." Prussia confirmed, unperturbed by the glare he was receiving. "From my awesome point of view, however!" He added with a wide toothy grin. "Prussia!" Veneziano growled in frustration. This was no time for his narcissism. Sensing this, Prussia replied, "How else would I tell you the story? I'm not omniscient, Italy, I can't tell you what happened from your point of view. That just wouldn't make any sense." Veneziano sighed in defeat. "Fine. Please continue, Prussia…" Prussia grinned and then said, "So my brothers and I traveled down to the local tavern—Germany and my daughter were being watched by his nanny—and ordered some beers…"

* * *

_Prussia and Bavaria slammed down their empty mugs on the bar and in unison shouted, "Another round, please!" The barkeep jovially replied from down the bar, "Coming up!" While they waited on their beers, Bavaria and Prussia spoke in hushed tones of the current news in the world of nations. _

"_So how did Italy escape this time? Through his window, over the fence, sneak out with a servant, what?" Prussia questioned. Ever since the younger Italy brother had began his escapades almost a century ago and started running away, or at least trying to run away from Austria's house, many nations had found his methods rather interesting. No one spoke of his very first escape. However, his second—most referred to it as his first—was quite clever, however and earned Italy some attention. He masqueraded as a female servant and simply walked right out the front gate. The guards never even blinked an eye. Austria and Hungary didn't discover his escape until later that evening after a full sweep of the manner was done with no sign of Italy anywhere. His second was much, much simpler, however, yet worked beautifully. A rope made of blankets and sheets used to scale down three stories to the ground and then he climbed over the stone walls of the manner and hijacked a horse from a nearby farm, all done in the middle of a stormy night. Kid had spunk. Prussia was interested in what Italy had done this time. _

"_He…" Bavaria hesitated a moment. Prussia raised an eyebrow._

"_What?" Prussia asked again. Why was Bavaria hesitating, he wondered? What did Italy do this time? Certainly nothing too…Dread came over Prussia. _

"_Mien Gott, what did he do this time?" Prussia asked._

* * *

"Was I really that bad?" Veneziano asked, knots forming in his stomach. Prussia, however, shook his head and Veneziano was thankful for that. "Not that bad, really. Just…after the whole thing with Holy Rome…" Prussia trailed off and Veneziano understood. He took a deep breath and sighed to calm his self and then said, "Okay, continue." Prussia nodded. "So I waited for Bavaria to answer, but he was acting really nervous…"

* * *

"_He…Well…" Bavaria said. Prussia grew ever more impatient. "Just spit it out all ready!" He growled in frustration, earning him a glare from his brother. "Fine." Bavaria ground out through gritted teeth. "From what I hear, he just came up behind Austria while he was practicing piano and hit him over the head with a wine bottle. Knocked him right out. Then he just marched out of there in broad light, stole a horse and high tailed it down to his homeland." Bavaria explained, and Prussia's jaw dropped._

* * *

"I did what?!" Veneziano asked with distress. Prussia tried to pat him on the back to calm the frantic fellow, but Veneziano was quickly unraveling. Poor thing was all ready hyperventilating. Prussia turned to the guard standing by the door awkwardly and said, "You should probably go get a paper bag…and some alcohol. This is a long story."

The guard nodded and left, allowing another guard to step in his place. Prussia and the new guard shared an uncomfortable stare for a moment before both avoided the other's gaze. With Veneziano still freaking out and the other guard gone to go get supplies for the ordeal they were all about to go through, both Prussia and the new guard knew this was going to be an awkward next couple of minutes.

* * *

"You feel okay now?" Prussia asked as Veneziano's breathing finally started to even out. The Italian took another swig of vodka—a gift from Poland—before nodding his head. "I-I'm okay." He replied. "Good." Prussia said softly as he rubbed comforting circles in his back. "Y-yeah. Good." Veneziano repeated as he shakily put down the bottle of vodka on the bedside table and nodded his head as if to convince his self. "Continue." He said. "All right, so my jaw dropped to the floor and just like you, I freaking flipped a lid…"

* * *

"_H-How!? He—Wha—?! I-It-Italy!? What? Really?!" Prussia stammered as his brain seemed to explode inside his skull from pure shock. Beside him, Bavaria nonchalantly nodded his head and called down the bar, "Where are those beers we ordered?! Hurry up!" He then turned to his brother again and said, "From what I hear, something really pissed him off and that's why he did it. That's at least what Liechtenstein said in her letter. Don't know what, though." Prussia nodded numbly, dread coming over him. "You don't think…" He trailed off, not wanting to even finish that sentence. Bavaria understood, however, and shook his head. "I don't think so. He doesn't even remember who Holy Rome was. If you ask me, he's probably just having another fit about getting his independence. Don't worry, Prussia. Austria and Hungary will have him back in a year tops." Bavaria assured his brother confidently. Their beers arrived not a moment later and the rest of the evening was spent drinking and conversing about less stressful things. Like that cute barmaid Saxony was too shy to just get up and talk to._

* * *

_Prussia awoke the next morning with a killer hangover, three brothers crashed on his couch, and a physically ten year old Germany sitting on his chest, scowling at him. "Get up!" He shouted loudly, and Prussia winced. Slowly, the albino nation sat up in bed, forcing Germany to climb off him, and he whispered hoarsely, "Please be quiet, Germany, big brother has a head ache." Germany scoffed. "More like a hangover." He grumbled as he hoped off Prussia's bed and stomped out his brother's bedroom, slamming the door as he left. Prussia winced again and fell back into his pillows and sheets, thankful that his little brother had closed the curtains on his windows before waking him._

* * *

_A couple hours later, Prussia found his self sitting around the breakfast table with four of his many, many brothers. Brandenburg and Germany's nanny, Winifred, joined them, correcting Germany on his table manners all throughout the meal and criticizing the food to boot. Prussia wondered not for the first time why he even hired the uptight bitch, but the empty chair across from him at the table reminded him why. Beside him were two other reminders as well. _

"_Germany, slow down," Prussia chastised as Germany, noticing how quickly he was cobbling down his breakfast. "It's not like your hash-browns are going to run away if you don't eat them fast enough." He said with a grin. Germany's chubby cheeks flushed pink and he noticeably slowed down his eating. Next to him, Brandenburg let out a giggle as Bavaria pulled her into his laugh, picked up a fork and attempted to coax her into actually eating her breakfast rather than play with it. Ah, but she was a stubborn little thing and kept her mouth firmly closed, barely containing her laughter. The sight made everyone around the table smile a little, even that bitch, Winifred._

_Prussia still wondered, looking at the scene before him, how he of all his brothers ended up the one with a family; it seemed more Austria, or Switzerland's thing, but it was him, Prussia, who had a little brother and daughter to raise, an empire of siblings to run and take care of. Austria must be so jealous, he thought with a barely contained snigger._

* * *

"Um, Prussia," Veneziano began. "Not that I don't like sweet as sugar stories about family and love and stuff—because I do, really—but…when are you going to get to the Risorgimento?" He asked. "Soon!" Prussia growled in frustration. "If you want to tell a story you have to start with an exposition, the rising action, climax, falling action, and finally resolution! God, Italy, you have no idea how to tell a story do you!" Prussia said with a scoff. "Please just get on with it!" Veneziano pleaded. "Fine," Prussia sighed. "I'll skip to the part where I went down to Austria's house to discuss some business—can't for the life of me remember what—and…things kind of got out of hand…"

* * *

"_Bring it on, tranny!" Prussia shouted as he dodge yet another piece of cutlery thrown at him by a furious Hungary. "Oh you asked for it, you albino asshole!" She screamed with rage. You could practically see the fire—and bloodlust—in her eyes. She was burning from the inside out with rage—and bloodlust—and nothing could stop her fury—or bloodlust—except maiming that asshole Prussia in her frenzy—of bloodlust. She threw everything that wasn't nailed down in the kitchen at him. Knives, frying pans, pots, spoons, frying pans, butter knives, strainers, whisks, frying pans, cups, dishes, frying pans, bowls, and, of course, frying pans. Prussia dodged with practiced ease, having been subject to her rages for quite some years and having grown used to her blind furies of cutlery-throwing rage. He was enjoying it, too._

"_That all you got?" He shouted over the clang and clatter. "You've lost your touch, Hungary," He shouted with a loud fake yawn. "Usually by now you've nailed me with a frying pan. That aristocrat really had domesticated you!" He taunted. Hungary growled in frustration and reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out yet another knife and threw it straight at Prussia's head. She missed him by a hair. Literally, she took off a lock of hair that's how close she was. _

_Prussia laughed at her failure and Hungary growled and began reaching for another knife. That was when Austria walked in._

"_What is the meaning of all this?!" He bellowed. Prussia and Hungary froze and in unison whirled around to face Austria. From across the room, their eyes briefly flickered towards one another, they shared a glare, and both pointed at each other and screamed._

"_It's all his fault!" "It's all her fault!" _

_Austria glared at both of them and the mess they had made of his kitchen. "Get out of my kitchen and meet me in my office in ten minutes." He growled through gritted teeth. Sheepishly, Prussia and Hungary exited the kitchen and together journeyed up to Austria's office, along the way in hushed voices exchanging insults and comments like: _

_"This is all your fault, asshole!" _

_"You started it, tranny!" _

_"I swear I'll shove my frying pan so far up your ass—" _

_"Try it and see what happens!"_

* * *

_Austria sat behind his desk and scowled at the two fellow nations before him. "This is the fifth time this decade that you two have almost destroyed my kitchen," He said through gritted teeth. Prussia scoffed. "That's an exaggeration, aristocrat! We've never destroyed your kitchen!" Austria's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "There are knives imbedded in the walls, broken plates and dishes everywhere, one of those frying pans went through a window and broke it, and you've traumatized Johan!" Austria growled, gesturing to the trembling human butler standing beside him. Poor fellow had been a witness to Prussia and Hungary's little fight. Yeah, what happened in the kitchen was one of their _little _fights. "I think that qualifies as destroying my kitchen!" Austria shouted angrily, surprising Prussia and Hungary greatly. "Wow, you're angry," Prussia commented with a snort of laughter. Even when he was angry, Austria wasn't all that intimidating. Unless he had Hungary backing him up. "Of course he's angry, you ass! You destroyed his—I mean our kitchen!" Hungary growled at the albino standing beside her. Prussia barked a laugh. "You mean _you_ destroyed his kitchen, Hungary. All I did was dodge cutlery." He said with a smirk. Hungary flushed bright red. _

"_You egged me on!" _

"_No I didn't. I just pointed out you had lost your edge is all."_

"_You were making fun of me!"_

"_I like to think I was giving an old friend some constructive criticism so she could become awesome again. Like me!"_

"_You narcissistic ass!" _

"_Commonplace housewife!"_

_With that comment, Prussia found his self on the floor, having been hit over the head with a frying pan. Hungary stood over him seething. Austria looked on with a mix of annoyance and awe. Johan had fainted already. "I will never understand what Brandenburg saw in you!" Hungary screamed before fleeing Austria office, slamming the door behind her as she left. A moment of tense silence passed before Prussia climbed to his feet and dusted his self, and then turned to face Austria's annoyed expression._

"_I will never understand either," Austria said. Prussia fixed him with a glare. "Well, I can say the same about you. Why Hungary is so devoted to you, I will never understand." He said, earning himself a scowl from Austria in return. "Maybe because I'm actually responsible, I have manners, and know how to build and run an empire without going to war all the time." Austria replied. Prussia scoffed and his glare intensified. "You mean by marrying whatever nation is most powerful at the time and then using them to gain power for yourself?" Prussia asked sarcastically. Austria was taken aback for a moment before shouting angrily "Says the personified army who dares to call his self a nation!" Prussia laughed at that. "Is that supposed to be an insult? If you haven't noticed aristocrat, I'm very proud of my militaristic culture. I'm proud of my strong army and the empire I've built with it! Hell, I did what you never could with it: unify all the Germanic nations—except for you, of course! Like I'd want you in my empire!" Prussia laughed. _

_It wasn't until his laughter ceased that he noticed just how venomously Austria was glaring at him. _

"_It will all eventually fall apart you know…" Austria whispered harshly. "Your empire will crumble and they'll all leave you. You don't have what it takes to hold an empire together, Prussia." He growled. Prussia snorted. "Like you can do any better. Didn't Italy just runaway for the third time?" He asked with a cruel smirk. Austria simply replied, "I'll drag him back like I always do, sooner or later." Prussia rolled his eyes and then simply walked out of Austria's office and left the manner, never having gotten around to the business he had come to discuss with him in the first place._

* * *

"I may have walked out of his office, but our argument was far from over. The aristocrat had really pissed me off with all his talk about my empire. As if I'd let Germany fall apart like he did…" Prussia trailed off, not wanting to mention Holy Rome's name and death in the same sentence in Veneziano's presence, but the younger nation still understood. "So that's why you came to help me, to get back at Austria," Veneziano stated. The fact saddened Veneziano, he must admit. So Prussia hadn't come to his aid out of the goodness of his heart. But then again, why would he? Back then, Veneziano wasn't even sure they were friends on a personal level, let alone close enough for Prussia not to have ulterior motives for helping him get his independence. "Veneziano, you do understand that—" "I do." Veneziano replied, interrupting Prussia mid-sentence. "I really do." He repeated with a smile. "Thank you, anyways, Prussia. Thanks for being a prick to Austria!" He said with a grin which Prussia eagerly returned along with a snicker.

"So what happened next?" Veneziano asked excitedly.

Prussia laughed and answered, "Shit it the fan, that's what happened!"

* * *

**A/N: I officially don't give a crap about cursing! Hooray! I have overcome one of my barriers as a writer!**

**On a side note, Prussia's motives for helping Italy out are revealed!**

**He just wanted to get back at that prick Austria!**

**What other reason would he have?**

**Next chapter, we'll learn what exactly Prussia means when he says, "Shit hit the fan!" Because it did. **

**Anyways, please review!**


	21. Chapter 21

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 21: The Risorgimento Part 3

* * *

"I remember the first time I saw you when I came to your aid…" Prussia trailed off with a wistful look in his eyes. Veneziano leaned forward in curiosity.

_This boy—no, this_ man_ can't be Italy. That's what Prussia thought upon coming face to face with the other nation in Florence. Granted, the last time Prussia saw Italy, his voice had only just broke, but there was no way that girlish little kid had turned into…this._

_He looked so broody and serious. More like Romano. But no, it wasn't Romano either. The hair was too light and the eyes were golden brown not olive green. So it had to be Italy. Prussia knew this, but still…it was unnerving. Italy looked older and more mature, probably physically in his late teens by now. He had lost some baby-fat in his face and body plainly, his jaw-line was more defined, even his eyes were more mature looking and frankly, he looked a lot like his grandfather. Prussia, as someone who had known Rome as a child, found this unsettling, like seeing a ghost. _

_Prussia cleared his throat and stuck out his hand to the other nation. Veneziano grasped his hand lightly and shook it. "It's nice to see you, again, Italy." Prussia greeted his almost shyly. Italy smiled at him and replied, "It's nice to see you as well, Prussia. How are things in your country?" He asked politely. Prussia shrugged. "Good, I suppose. Germany's doing well. The empire's going great. Austria's miserable. I guess it's all good on my end." He said. Italy gave him a wry smile. "Why are you always so happy when Austria's down?" He asked. Prussia laughed and said, "Because it's always fun to see that high and mighty aristocrat be put in his place! Really, he has no business acting like he so much better than everyone else when it's his husbands and wives that do most of his work!" Italy quickly covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. "Y-Yeah!" He agreed, his voice muffled by his hand. Prussia laughed some more and slapped Italy on the back good-naturedly, and finally Italy removed his hand from his mouth and laughed along with Prussia. They both had a good feeling about this._

* * *

_It was after a long hard day of training and Prussia and Italy were sitting down for dinner. Romano had gone straight to bed. Italy and Prussia sat at opposite ends of a long rectangular table. It was covered with a white tablecloth, and while only two of them were eating, ten places were set. A bouquet of white and red roses was in the center of the table, blocking Prussia's view of Italy. The lighting was dim, being supplied by candles around the room rather than by light bulbs. The atmosphere may have come off as romantic if hadn't been for the fact that neither Italy nor Prussia possessed very good table manners._

_Italy was on his third plate of pasta and Prussia was on his second. Both had downed a great amount of wine as well, but weren't quite drunk yet because they were nations. Before the main dish was served, they had also gulfed down two salads and lots of bread. Yet neither seemed even half full yet. Training took a lot of ya, though, right? And Italy was a growing nation still, Prussia thought. But then he stopped and thought… _

"_Hey, Italy?" Prussia called. Italy looked up and leaned to the side to see past the bouquet. "Yes?" He called back. "How physically old are you now?" He asked. Italy gave a long, "Uh~…" before responding, "The last time I saw a physician, he estimated eighteen or nineteen years old." Prussia gave a whistle. "Wow, you grew what—four, five years in less than a century? You're almost growing as fast as Germany!" Prussia said in amazement. Nations did not age fast; maybe a year or two every century. Italy's growth was astonishing. "How old is Germany now?" Italy asked. "Almost seventy technically, but he's physically ten!" Prussia replied. Italy's jaw dropped. "Ten years old in less than a century!?" He exclaimed. Prussia nodded proudly. "My little brother is growing up fast and strong!" He said with a grin._

* * *

"Prussia, can you get to the point already? You told me things hit the fan." Veneziano pleaded with a minor slur. He'd been nursing that vodka for a while now and at this point he was partially drunk and really impatient and just really wanted the gist of things. Prussia waved his hand dismissively. "They did! Now shut up and listen, I'm getting to that part!" He said. "All right, so we ate dinner and then we moved into the den…" He continued.

* * *

_Prussia lit up a cigar and inhaled deeply. His muscles, tense from the day's long training session, relaxed and Prussia exhaled with satisfied sigh. He slumped in his chair and rolled his shoulder. Mien Gott, that felt good. Beside him on the couch, Italy sat and stared at him wide eyed. He looked oh so innocent, looking at Prussia curiously as he smoked. Prussia grinned and held out the cigar to him in offering. Italy looked at him with surprise. "You want to try?" He asked. Italy eyed the cigar in Prussia's hand warily before cautiously taking it and holding it to his lips. Slowly, Italy inhaled the smoke, only to let it all out a moment later in a fit of coughs. He dropped the cigar and hunched over as he coughed. Prussia looked at him worriedly, half-afraid the younger nation may hack out his lungs. _

_When his coughing ceased, Italy bent down and picked up the cigar and handed it back to Prussia. Prussia smiled and said, "You sure you don't want to take a second drag?" Italy vigorously shook his head and Prussia laughed and placed the cigar back on his lips._

* * *

"It wasn't long after that that our first battle came. I had never really seen you in action, so I was curious as to how you would act." Prussia got a faraway look in his eye. "You and Romano tried to act tough at first. Romano's face was stoic, but his body betrayed just how on edge he was. Not that was a bad thing. Really, I would have been surprised if he hadn't have been. You on the other hand, I thought you were going to wimp out or something…but that was before I knew you had gotten your memories back…"

"You didn't know?" Veneziano asked in surprise. Prussia shook his head.

"No. It's not like you told me or I had any way of knowing. But trust me. It was a game changer."

"How?"

"Well for one, you were really, _really _pissed at Austria and Hungary!"

* * *

_He had expected a lot of things to happen during battle. He was used to the unexpected happening as well. He was mentally prepared for whatever Austria and Hungary threw at him and the Italies. But even Prussia was thrown for a loop when in the fray of battle, he stumbled across Italy—the northern half—beating the tar out of the aristocrat._

_His fists were flying and he was screaming something really fast in Italian. Austria's nose of bleeding and face was bruised; he looked about ready to pass out. Prussia had no clue where his glasses had gone, but if he had worn them on the battlefield they were probably broken by now. Austria must have landed a few good punches before Italy pinned him to the ground and sat on top of him, because Italy was sporting a couple nasty bruises, too. _

_It was a shocking sight. Prussia never thought cute little Italy capable of doing something like pinning down the aristocrat and beating the shit out of him. He stood in the middle of the battlefield, watching with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He was sure that as he stood there frozen he got shot a few times, but he barely felt it due to his surprise. It was a familiar woman's war cry that brought him out of his stupor. He found his self on the ground with Hungary beating the hell out of him like Italy was Austria. Prussia really shouldn't have been surprised. Hungary didn't have it in her to hurt Italy, a boy she had practically raised, but she definitely had it in her to hurt Prussia._

_"Get off, Tranny! Shouldn't you being protecting your precious aristocrat?"_

_"Shut the Hell up, Prussia! This is all your fault!"_

_"My fault!?" Anger coursing through his veins, Prussia threw Hungary off of him and into the mud. He climbed over her and pinned her down to keep her from hitting him again. "How the ever loving Hell is this my fault?!"_

_"We would have brought him home by now if it weren't for you!"_

_"He is home, Hungary! He doesn't want to be the aristocrat's underling anymore. Let him go! You're acting almost as badly as England!"_

_"Shut up! You don't know anything about what's going on!"_

_"Italy wants his independence—"_

_"It's more than that!"_

_"Wha—"_

_Suddenly, someone tore Prussia off of Hungary. It was the aristocrat, who was surprisingly strong. Prussia didn't even try and stop him as he helped Hungary to her feet. Their forces were retreating; the Italian and Prussian forces had won. Prussia watched as Austria stumbled away, held up by Hungary. Italy joined his side along with his brother. Romano was absolutely beaming despite the fact his mouth was bloodied and there were at least five obvious bullet holes in his chest that would need some explaining if they wished for their human comrades to continue to believe they were human themselves. Italy, on the other hand, was ridiculously solemn for a guy who still had a cavalry sword stuck in his chest. It would have been comical if it weren't for the fact some of their soldiers were fainting at the sight of him._

* * *

_Later that evening, as they sat in a tent and were bandaged up by some cute Italian nurses, Prussia just came out and asked what had been bothering him since the battle ended. _

_"What is all this really about?"_

_"Mine and my brother's independence._

_"No it isn't."_

_"…"_

_"It won't change anything. I'll help you kick the aristocrat's ass regardless of what your reasons are for it. I'd just like to know what Hungary wants to kick my ass for." _

_"…I remembered."_

_"Remembered what?" Prussia asked confusedly. _

_"Holy Rome." Prussia froze. That had not been the answer he was expecting._

_"What exactly…?"_

_"Everything, Prussia. Everything."_

_"Then why are you doing all of this?"_

_Italy was quiet for a long time. _

_"Mostly because I've wanted independence for a long time now. But also because…revenge. For lying to me, for suppressing me. For everything. But mostly because I don't want his death to be for nothing. He died because I wanted my independence. So I'm going to get it, one way or another."_

* * *

Prussia was actually sort of surprised when he went to pour another glass of vodka but found the bottle empty. He didn't realize that they had been drinking so much. He also didn't realize Veneziano was crying until the nation was sobbing into his shoulder.

"I remember that…" He whimpered pathetically and drunkenly. He then punched Prussia in the chest. It didn't hurt, but still. "What was that for?" Prussia asked with a minor slur. "I also r-remember you getting Romano and I so drunk later that night, I puked all over Romano and Romano tried to feel up a man."

Prussia snickered. He remembered that and more.

"Remember how that man looked suspiciously a lot like Spain?" Veneziano's following fit of giggles was answer enough. "Other than the whole vomiting part, that was a pretty fun night. Everyone was so happy about our victory!"

"Yeah. But…I should probably tell you something else…" Prussia trailed off.

"What should you tell me?" Veneziano hiccupped with a goofy drunken smile.

"On second thought…I'll tell you tomorrow." Prussia waved over the guard at the door. He came over and dragged Veneziano to his feet. "Oh~! I hate cliffhangers!" He slurred as he was dragged from the room.

"Goodnight, Italy!"

"Nightie-night, Prussia!"

The door closed and was locked behind him and Prussia felt the full force of what he would have to say to Italy tomorrow.

* * *

Austria, after hundreds of years of watching the same punishment dished out to Prussia and others on a near daily basis, finally got a taste of the Frying Pan of Doom.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here after what you've done!" Hungary seethed as held her frying pan up to deal another blow to the side of Austria's face. Austria slowly crawled backwards on the floor towards the still open front door. She had already broken his glasses and quite possibly his nose; he'd hate to think what a second would do. "Hungary, I'm sorry—"

"Prussia got captured because of you!" Hungary shouted, though there was a low demonic growl of anger in her voice. Her green eyes were blazing with rage.

In that moment, the image of boy with light brown hair held back in a ponytail with those very same eyes, only alight with happiness and mischief not anger, and an albino boy a tad shorter and skinnier than the former, laughing together. Both were battered and bruised, their clothing torn and bloodied, yet they looked like they were having fun. Like two innocent children they both knew they were not just playing in the mud and not returning from a bloody battle.

"Hungary!"

Both Austria and Hungary froze in shock as Germany hobbled down the stairs into the foyer. His head was still wrapped in bandages and just by the look in his eyes you could tell he was still recovering from his comatose, but he was still a rather imposing sight.

"Germany, you should be resting!" Hungary chastised, as if he were a child still. He was, in a way. He was even younger than America, barely over a century old compared to Austria, Prussia, and his other brothers' near millennia. It was hard to believe it, however, looking at him.

"I'm fine, Hungary." Germany said dismissively. He approached Austria and held out a hand to help him up. Austria took it gratefully. At least Prussia had somehow instilled manners in him. "Welcome back, brother." Germany smiled. Austria returned it. Sometimes he forgot he was one of Germany's big brothers. Hungary disappeared from the foyer, presumably back to whatever she had been doing before hand.

Austria and Germany seated their selves in Germany's office upstairs. Germany's three dogs eagerly greeted them, apparently having missed Austria in his absence. When the dogs settled in their favorite spots—Aster by Germany's feet under the desk, Berlitz on a chair he had long ago claimed as all his own and no one else's, and Blackie on rug in middle of the room—Austria and Germany lapsed into an awkward silence that only they, the quietest of the German brothers, could lapse into. Even the dogs seemed annoyed by it because Aster barked from under Germany's desk after several moments as if just to fill the silence.

"Austria," Germany began. "I know that this may difficult, but…can you please tell me why all this is happening?" For the first time, Austria noticed how haggard Germany looked. When he had gotten news of Germany's reawakening, he'd raced right back home, knowing Germany would most likely be upset by what had happened. But he never thought Germany would take it so hard. Austria wished he could ease his pain.

"I would if I could. But even I barely understand the situation." Austria replied solemnly. Germany nodded understandingly and asked, "Than who can?"

Austria paused a moment an answered honestly. "Your brother or Hungary. They seem to be the only ones who have the full story. Or as much of it as one can without reading Italy's mind." Germany only seemed more troubled by his answer.

"I don't understand." Germany growled, his fists clenching and brows drawing tightly together. "How could everything have gone so bad so fast? What happened to make Italy do all of this? There has to be more going on here than just what's happened in the last few months." Austria felt for his younger brother, but sadly, he couldn't give him the answers he needed. Austria knew only a little more than Germany.

Austria had only one answer for his little brother.

"A long time ago, you had another older brother named Holy Roman Empire," Austria began. Germany looked at him with confusion and maybe just an inkling of hope.

"And Italy killed him."

Germany's face became a mask of pure horror.

* * *

**A/N: Anti-climatic at first, I know, but I hope this satisfies your needs until next chapter where we will get some good old awkwardness, a hearty helping of drama, a healthy dose of tragedy, and a dash of fluff. **

**Also, can I just ask what is your opinion, as a reader, of the Ocs Brandenburg, Prussia's daughter, and Berlin? **


	22. Chapter 22

The Runaway Reawakens

Note: I Own Nothing

Summary: Italy remembers the events of "The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories" as well as how he gained independence.

Chapter 22: The Risorgimento Part 4

* * *

If Romano found anything more annoying than that bastard Spain it was being woken up at ungodly hours in the morning by worried maids about his brother vomiting his guts out in his private bathroom down the hall.

"Okay, idiota, what's wrong?" Romano shouted as he marched into said bathroom.

Veneziano gave a loud groan of protest, his voice echoing in the toilet bowl.

"Please be quiet, Fratello. My head hurts." He pleaded miserably. Romano rolled his eyes and crouched down beside his little brother. Tentatively, he patted him on the back.

"What's wrong? Are you sick or something?"

Veneziano shook his head.

"Hangover." He admitted with a groan as another round of vomiting began. Romano cringed at the sound, but nonetheless voiced his frustration.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing getting drunk when we're in the middle of a war, idiota!? What made you decide to go and get wasted?"

When the vomiting passed, Veneziano finally pulled his head out of the toilet and face his older brother. Romano cringed yet again at the sight. "Jesus, you look like crap!" His younger brother looked horrible. He had bags under his glazed over eyes, disheveled hair and he looked half-dead. His breath stank like France's cheese, too.

"What time did you get to bed last night?" Romano questioned with genuine concern.

Veneziano seemed to take a moment to think before shrugging and replying, "Late."

Romano scowled at him.

"Take a shower and brush you damn teeth, and then come down for breakfast." He ordered sternly and then got up and left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He could hear Veneziano's loud groan of pain through the door.

A half-hour later, Veneziano climbed down the staircase and plopped himself down across from Romano at the breakfast table. He still looked dog-tired, but he at least didn't smell like vodka anymore. Romano tried to remain indifferent to this, and continued to read his morning paper and sip his coffee casually as he did every morning. A serving maid came from the kitchen with a tray filled with rolls, a steaming pot of coffee, and a few cups. She placed a cup in front of Veneziano and poured his coffee.

"Cream? Sugar?" She asked gently. News of Veneziano's state had spread quickly throughout the household. "No. He'll take it black this morning, Bella-Marie." Romano answered for him, giving his younger brother a pointed look over his newspaper. Veneziano seemed disappointed, but did not protest—or at least didn't have the will to.

Romano watched from the corner of his eye as Veneziano cringed at the bitter taste of his coffee and silently thought it karmic justice for drinking so irresponsibly last night.

Bella-Marie brought out their breakfast a few moments later. Veneziano, of course, nearly gagged at the smell, but held his tongue on complaints he knew very well he had no right to make, and thanked her as she left the dining room. Veneziano and Romano ate in silence, the grandfather clock in the corner ticking away, closing in on eight o'clock, their utensils clanking against their dishes, and the birds' morning songs outside filling the air between them.

"How did you get so drunk last night?" Romano finally asked. Veneziano realized suddenly he hadn't answered that question earlier in the bathroom, and he wondered if he should. He scowled one last bite of his eggs and took a sip of his bitter coffee to clear his throat. "I talked to Prussia about my memories last night after his interrogation." He confessed, and Romano nearly choked on his fork.

"You were fraternizing with our prisoner! You idiota—!"

"Romano, please be quieter! I'm still hung-over!"

"No thanks to that lousy potato-eating-bastard!"

"Hey! That lousy potato-eating-bastard helped us win our independence!"

That shut up Romano, but it didn't silence his furious glare. Veneziano would have cowered if he was actually afraid of his brother. You can't fear someone you love, after all.

"Okay, so what did that bastard tell you?" Romano growled. Veneziano thought back to last night and remember most of what was said, though he felt some things were escaping him. "Why he helped us, how different I was back then, how I was really mad at Austria and Hungary, and…uh, some other stuff I can't recall." Veneziano answered. Romano seemed unsatisfied with this response. "Then he really didn't tell you anything!" He spat. "If you wanted to know about your past why not ask me?" He asked, frustrated. Veneziano really didn't have an answer to that. After the scrapbook incident, Veneziano hadn't bothered to ask his brother any questions about his past, and now that he thought about it, he probably should have considering Romano might know even more about what happened than Prussia did.

Veneziano's lack of response angered Romano.

"You are such an idiota, you know that, Veneziano! You never think things through properly!" He growled, stabbing his breakfast in fury. The butler, Charles, would not be happy about the scratches in the fine china or the bent fork—"That was the good silverware!" Veneziano could already hear him moaning.

"I-I'm sorry," Veneziano apologized. "I-I guess I just wasn't…thinking."

Romano scoffed, but instead of chewing Veneziano out, he asked, "What do you want to know so badly that you can't ask your own brother?"

Veneziano, a bit surprised, stammered his reply: "What happened during the Risorgimento. I can't remember it, or how I got my memories back before, or how I lost them again or anything really. But Prussia helped me remember a few things." Romano nodded his head in understanding and a smug smile came to his features.

"Well, allow me to reiterate."

* * *

"I don't understand…how? Why would he…_kill _Holy Rome?" Germany asked.

Austria sighed and said, "I don't know. Like Italy, I lost my memories of what happened back then, but I never gained my memories back and don't know what exactly happened to make him do that." Germany looked at him in confusion.

"He lost his memories?" He asked. Austria nodded his head.

"Right after he killed him according to Hungary. But even she didn't know exactly what happened because she didn't see it. She and Prussia and some of our other brothers kept it a secret for a long time, never knowing what exactly happened back then, but believing it better neither I nor Italy ever knew about their suspicions."

"Suspicions?"

"Up until the Risorgimento, Hungary had hoped that France had actually been the one to kill Holy Rome. Something France had neither confirmed nor denied to her for many years. I think up until Italy got his memories back, France may have been the only one to know what really happened."

Germany was silent for a few long awkward moments before asking a question that had been hanging in the air for awhile now.

"How did he get his memories back?"

"I don't know. All I know is one day I was playing my piano—a piece by Mozart, I believe—and the next thing I knew, Italy had smashed a bottle over my head and when I awoke later, I was told he had ran away from home yet again to achieve his independence. It was only weeks later as he was beating me into the ground in the middle of a battlefield that I realized this wasn't like all the other times before.

"He was so angry. He was furious. Italy called Hungary and I liars. He screamed that everything that happened was our fault. He looked about ready to kill me. I had to stick my sword through his torso to get him off and then Hungary and I retreated. Later, I demanded answers from Hungary and she told me the story of what happened all those years ago to Holy Rome and Italy."

"So what did happen?" Germany asked. He sounded tired.

"It's a long story, and one I don't really believe I'm a leading authority on. I suggest you ask Hungary." Austria replied as he stood up. He excused himself and left the room, leaving Germany alone in his office with his dogs.

Germany sighed and buried his face in his hands. Underneath the desk, Aster, sensing her master's sadness, pawed at his pants leg and gave a whine. Germany scooted back in his chair and looked down at his beloved dog. He couldn't help but crack a small smile.

He patted his thigh and on cue, Aster hopped up on his lap and cuddled up to him like she had since she was a puppy and him a child.

There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, Germany's heart skipped a beat. A knock on that door had started this mess.

He shook himself and called, "Come in." Italy was gone. He wasn't on the other side of that door.

Hungary entered the office with a letter in hand.

"A letter from Japan just arrived." She announced softly. She handed the letter to Germany and stood and watched quietly as he opened it and skimmed it. Her eyes hardened as his widened.

"Thank you, Hungary." Germany said as he quickly put the letter aside and took out a piece of paper and a pen. He froze right in the middle of writing his name when he realized Hungary had not yet dismissed herself.

Germany cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, "Is there something you'd like to discuss, Hungary?"

"What did that letter say?" She asked.

"Hungary, that is classified information. I can't—"

"Germany, I helped Brandenburg and Prussia potty train you. I checked under your bed for monsters, read you fairytales and sang you lullabies, and watched you grow up into a great nation. Now tell me what that letter says or the entire planet finds out you wet the bed until you were physically twelve years old!" Hungary growled. Germany shoved the letter in her face like a clown does a pie, his face bright red.

Hungary scowled as she took the letter from him and read it herself; only to give up two minutes later. "I can't read Japanese." She said dismally, handing the letter back to Germany. Germany took the letter back and read it to her.

"_Dear Ludwig-kun, _

_I am sorry for the delay in my reply to the news of Feliciano-san's defection from the Axis. I am both saddened and angered by this. I am surprised at this development, but at the same time, I am not. We always knew Feliciano-san was a coward. I suppose we should have seen it coming that he was also a traitor. I knew his history; what he did to Roderick-san and Elizabeta-san during the Great War. But I could not see past his friendly demeanor and seemingly naïve and weak nature. _

_Feliciano-san is more of a self-preservationist than we originally thought. _

_I hope you recover from your wounds soon—both physical and emotional. I assure you that when this war is over and we, the Axis, stand the victors, you will feel much better. Perhaps it was simply not meant to be for you and Feliciano-san. Or now is just not your time. Sadly, either way, I cannot forgive Italy-san for his actions. At the moment, I hold him in great contempt for his betrayal. However, the future is bright. We have a long journey ahead of us, and who knows what will happen. _

_May you smile today,_

_Kiku Honda"_

It was plainly a personal letter, and for a moment, Hungary felt guilty for having him read it under threat of global humiliation. But that feeling passed as quickly as it came. She was more concerned of other things at the moment and feeling guiltier for worse as well.

"Japan sounds upset." She murmured.

"Yes, he is. He's become very devoted the Axis and he and Italy were close—closer than I ever was to him—so he must be taking it hard. Bulgaria's and the rest of the letters from Axis besides us have shown they aren't really surprised. Bulgaria's reaction to it was pretty much, "What were you expecting?" Hungary, I feel like a fool." Germany groaned.

"Don't we all?" Hungary sighed.

"Really," She continued. "I should have been were weary. Better prepared for this. Italy doesn't take well to be lied to or oppressed. Never has."

"Even when he was just a little nation, after Rome died, he absolutely hated it when other nations came and poked around his territory, attacking like they were the boss of him. Turkey learned the hard way. He was a tough little guy—but even he couldn't stand on his own for long and he came into Austria's possession and came to live in his household along with several other nations, including I and Holy Rome."

"Did you know he hated Holy Rome at first? Called him a bully and avoided him at all costs. But eventually they became friends and it was so cute and I was so happy." Hungary said wistfully. Germany smiled at the image she painted. He wished he could see the side of Italy she remembered. It was still hard for Germany to believe the Italy he knew had once been strong—in spirit, at least, if not power—when Germany himself hadn't even been born.

"Hungary, may I ask something of you, so I might understand this situation better?" Germany asked. Hungary smiled and nodded.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Germany asked, "Will you tell me the story of Holy Rome's death and Italy's memories?"

Hungary smiled, as if she had been expecting this for a long time, and she probably had been.

"It all started one night at dinner when Austria received a letter from the war front from Holy Rome…"

* * *

**A/N: Hungary will now proceed to tell Germany the story, aka the prequel to this story, **_**The Death of Holy Rome and Italy's Memories**_**. **

**Hope you get the references in Japan's letter to his character songs!**

**Oh, and in real history, I'm not kidding you, Japan was freaking pissed at Italy for leaving the Axis! I simply toned it down to keep Hetalia!Japan in character, but really, just so you know, Japan is genuinely, unforgiving-ly (for now) pissed off at Italy!**

**It's really sad! :'(**

**Next chapter we get to hear Romano's side of the story! **

_**If you want to hear Hungary's read the prequel!**_

**Au Revoir mon petit reviewers! J'taime! **


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